The lump barely shifted when the pale wolf approached, although some part of it did feel a nudge. When the observer withdrew, there was nothing but stillness and silence—the ocean sounding bilious as it rolled about in the beyond. The birds returned then; but this time it was not just the gulls. While the seabirds circled upon the open air, a crow landed atop the boulder. It hopped across the surface with an eager, expectant loom to its body. Long-faced and hungry.
It hopped down and skittishly moved towards the lump, not phased by the wolf that stood so close by. It cawed at the lump, pecking at some of the fur and pulling, as if to test the boundary no doubt set by the watching wolf. Regardless of his reaction, the bird would hop and pester until properly chased away—but it would not be Skoll that did the chasing.
When a strong enough squawk rang out, the lump shifted again. This time it rolled, and there was a slick and wet sound from beneath. The sand held firm to the resting limbs of the creature, but after a lethargic roll they came loose. The lump's head now came in to view in the sunlight: a square head, long but rounded muzzle, and closed eyes. But as the crow continued to dance around it, pecking and pestering, somehow it woke up.
With water suddenly bursting from within the creature, the wolf began to cough and struggle for air. The sounds were chaotic enough to startle the crow, although not far—it took to roosting upon the boulder, watching the white wolf and the struggling soggy dog below.