Stavanger Bay nothing lasts forever, not even the best machines

the pleasure of coconutgate twenty-eighteen had not yet abated in velen — he found something new to snicker about each day. but if there was something he did not find funny, it was dark lurkers on their shoreline. of course, it was not yet theirs, but velen wasn't about to be wooed by pesky logic. 
and yet if the next iteration of the mayfair-cairn legacy was to thrive, they were in need of joiners. numbers, ford had said — numbers enough to claim both the shoreline and the forest where their grandfather lay in eternal sleep. velen tempered his approach, stepping out into what starlight there was and offering a low chuff. he did not approach, however — the yearling's stance was open but careful, his mouth silent for the time being.