Stavanger Bay passion fruit

It was not a good time to come knocking on the borders of the Cairne's claim; the sleepless dredge was always hunting for a target upon which to unleash his innate rage, all that terror that he could not utilize while under the command of the far more passive Smokestep. He patrolled frequently, slept little, and could barely eat (the entrails of his kills or morsels from caches would often be strewn about the beach, ruined and uneaten). No, it was not a good time to come face-to-face with the bushido.

But fate took hold swiftly — the moment the scent of someone new came to him through the thick brine of the sea air, Tetsubo set off to intercept. He thought of nothing else but the sensation of teeth sinking in to flesh—he was not subtle in his approach, bludgeoning the path before himself as he roamed and hunted, until finally the sound of her call rang out and he leveled his dead-eye stare in that direction. At this point his pace increased—the creature veered, and with a snarl bellowing forth from his gut, he lunged for her.
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