Stavanger Bay her lips, just like a gun

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@Rosalyn
the north had been as stiff as it had been dull, and the blackthorn decided quickly that heading westward had been a spectacular idea. salt crusted in her fur; her muzzle bore a dozen small scars from where she'd stuck her nose at things novel and bitey. maple had come to appreciate the taste of whatever the ocean spat up, as well as the odd little creatures that roamed the strands. 

she'd avoided the first pack here, but at the second, did not veer away as she had before. she came to a pause at the border; despite her initial bluster at the northern pack, she was not in the habit of crossing them. howl left her upturned maw, quick and inviting, tongue finding a stray bit of snapping-thing lodged beside her canine.