Stavanger Bay Without tradition, art is a flock of sheep without a shepherd.

@Thistle Cloud

Beric walked leisurely, his head a little lowered as his paws sunk in the sand of the beach, leaving traces of where he had been. He was coming back from the stretch of rocks that made up their south border. His pawprints from his walk there were long since washed away by the salty sea water and the light rain coming down from the sky, making his fur lay heavy on him. His mood was as cloudy as the sky, impartial to any rays of sunshine that might be trying to break through. He would not blame Claire for being upset with him; he was upset at himself. He had been caught between a rock and a hard place, and in the end, his loyalty to his pack had to be met before his loyalty to a non-pack friend. It was the way of their world.

Still, it did not make him feel any better. Turning towards the water, he sat down on his haunches. After a few minutes, he was rewarded with a break in the rain, not that he noticed it much at all anyways. He took in a deep breath, and then sighed. Eventually, he hoped Claire would forgive him, but he was planning on the worst. Once she was free of her punishment, would she feel she was free of him, as well? Would she leave without so much as a thought to him again? He would not, could not, blame her if she hated him.