Ankyra Sound maitanz im grünen

the first thing mahler had done upon being accepted by wylla was tour himself around the coastal territory. it was a rather cheerless place, he had thought at first. but wintertime had birthed grey and cold into the air; the man knew he was not being as objective as he was able. grimnismal — he willed it to come alive when sunlight warmed the sands and shoals.
at mid-morning, the musiker paced the shores, listening to the colorless lap of water upon the beach. the brine still stung him a bit, though not as before; mahler suspected he would soon be used to it. when the waves drew back, he stepped gingerly onto the soaked sand, head tilting to one side as he spotted an odd rock half-buried there.
the sea returned and splashed against his muzzle as he drew the thing from its resting place and carried it to drier climes — mahler was quiet in his investigation: a triangular black rock, long-pointed on one end. a shark's tooth, though the man did not know the name for whatever seabeast had lost its weapon.