Ravenshook Cliffs compelled to write with aching fearful hands

The weald had grown too quiet for his liking, somehow suffocating when it had not once felt that way. He had abandoned it for the day, the solitude it provided not quite enough to quell internal turmoil. It had been days since he had caught sight or scent of @Nyx and though but one of many growing burdens resting on his mind, he kept it at arm's length to scour the coast. Cloud cover kept the sun masked from the moment he had left the sanctuary of his home and persisted as his paws graced wet sand left damp from early morning.

Midday greeted him by the time he reached the rocky outcropping of the cliffs; he gave the edge a wide berth as he drew in the sight of the churning ocean. Even here as far as the eye could see he saw nothing but cloud cover, the grayed horizon only shades lighter than the sea itself. It went on his way no matter where he looked and the wind, well it was a cold and bitter thing, a change of pace from the gentle warmth the coast had been kind to provide over the last few weeks.

Testing the air with an upturned nose, he found nothing to suggest anything was out of place here. The cliffside itself did not seem a place well traversed as the inviting shoreline behind him, and perhaps that was with good reason. His avoidance of the edge had nothing to do with fear, but rather the uncertainty that the edge was even sound. Evidence of its weakness in the weathered stone was obvious, the crumbles many and met with cracks and crevices willing to swallow anything whole at a moment's notice.

Still, it did not satisfy him.