Gilded Bay always had high, high hopes

She hadn't traveled up to the coast in some time.  Truthfully, much like her namesake, Fire did not like the ocean.  She did not like how unpredictable it was, its salty tang.  She didn't like the way it smelled, like something weeks-old and rotten.

But there were some good memories up here.  She had come up here with Colt to meet with the leader of Ironsea on Rosalyn's behalf.  She wondered what those wolves were up to now, but she wasn't about to go traipsing up to their claimed territory to find out.  

The bay was a prime area for fishing.  The tide had just receded and left pools of seafood in its wake.  For this she didn't even have to put in any work.  Many of the fish and crabs were on the brink of death, stranded, and it took very little to finish them off.

She feasted for the better part of the morning, until a large black mass was visible in the distance.  Curiosity got the better of her, and she altered her course to come close.

It was a wolf.

How did this always happen to her?  She was like a magnet for the lost and weary.  Gingerly, she poked him with her nose, watched his ribs as he took in air.  He wasn't dead.  But he was far from safe.