Sea Lion Shores Everybody gets a little bit of stage fright

Her coat bristled as she gagged again, punctuating her illness with an ill attitude. She shot the salty lake a reproachful glare before composing herself. With a shudder, the small female turned as though to make her way back to the river, but a whiff of the tangy ocean air made bile rise in her throat once again and, thinking better of walking away, Ptarmigan sat herself heavily in the sand.

Just as she was lifting a hind leg to scratch absentmindedly at one of her ears in hopes that redirecting her thoughts would help with the nausea, a concerned voice stole her attention. The wolf who had spoken was blonde and, for all intents and purposes, presumably a loner like herself. The smell of other wolves wafted from the female's general direction, but the typical behavioural cues of a territorial pack wolf were curiously absent. This made Ptarmigan freeze on the spot where typically she would have fled the scene of a pack's claim.

“Fine,” she responded gruffly, remembering the sour taste of the ocean in her mouth and hiccoughing uncomfortably. She didn't say anything else, but she kept her eyes trained on the blonde female, awaiting an expected declaration of purpose or something equally grand (as ifshe was entitled to hear the intentions of others).

Ypres didn't yield any grand secrets, however, and eventually, Ptarmigan lost interest in her companion and left without a word.