Wheeling Gull Isle we float before the sea at dusk

 

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it is dusk; the sun just dipping below the horizon. the family is mostly settled within the den, save for Fern, who picks her way around the entrance. she wander's further and further, enticed at first by the flicker of a lightning fly, then some beckoning scent in the @Reeds, then again by the shuffle of something on the ground. 

she recognizes it as something like the little things that scuttle into the waves when she manages to upend a big enough rock; but bigger. this one is perched near a bit of scraggly undergrowth, and the pup trots near fully intent on investigating this sea-spider so far from the water. 

poking muzzle is retaliated sharply against, and one of the heavy arms that seem so small and ineffective on the creatures by the beach is suddenly used against her. it snaps shut across her nose just as she jerks back with a yelp, slicing a narrow line across it. paws bat against her muzzle and she whines, the crab making a quick escape to beneath the shrub.