Gilded Bay Sirensong

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He never spent much time away from Meteora. Today was different, but only because she was preoccupied; it was always difficult for Astraios to stay on her good side when she was distracted, and the few wolves they had encountered had drawn her attention. So he took to wandering without her — but he kept his ears trained for the sound of her voice, or the call of her song, for he was well trained and knew his place. Perhaps in his foray along the coast he could find something for her? Although, from his own experience, Astraios doubted that pretty pebbles or shells would do much to change Meteora's opinion of him.

Alas, it bothered him little. The boy traipsed his way along, toes tinted brown from the wet sand, his head low and eyes shifting from spot to spot as he surveyed. He picked at some tangled kelp for a few minutes, until his teeth punctured the tough sphere of one end; he scattered pale shells and regarded their purple undersides for a time; then, as he approached a large boulder lodged in the sand, Astraios' breath hitched in his throat.

There was a wolf perched atop it. How had she made it there without his noticing? The light of the sun briefly blinded him and he averted his gaze, but chuffed an inviting note towards the stranger — unsure of them, but the excitement of his discovery made him less rigid in his behavior.
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