Stavanger Bay you are the night-time terror

A pronounced ear tilts back, fur as thick as a hare's; it curves towards that chuff, away from her star-numbed brain. The longing of her body tugs at the glimmering strands of her mind, entreating her to look. Blearily, she does.

At first, it's a listless passing of her eyes, blinded by the rapture of her mind that is held in the grasp of those stars. Clambering through a haze of stardust, her lashes flutter like dragonfly wings, and she is left discerning who, of course, towers across from her. Aure has been, rather below, the average height of the common female of her kin for most of her life - she doesn't expect to grow into some willowy, graceful and lovely thing. It is her constant, and something she wonders at in others; something she is still unaccustomed to.

It's becoming apparent to her that Teekon is full of giants alive.

Yet, her heart stumbles when she sees him; nothing but a skull enlivened and grinning reminiscent of a death ode. The searing sunset can do nothing to bring that figure to light, lest he makes himself even more present. For a moment, her non-beliving self thought it might be some deity of the depths; someone made of salt and brine and predator-marrow.

All of this, and she simply said, "Good evening."