Stavanger Bay lament of the highborne

this is incredible. thank you for taking the time to write such a well-thought piece.

The titan had moved to patrol his claim on that day when the wind had taken hold and gripped against him like a wild tempest, aiming to return him to the waters. Though his heart thrummed in temptation for such things, the dark sea wraith remained closer to the sands than he would have. His ankles still bathed in the saline grip of the lapping waves. Ford moved along the stretch of sea with a sway to his panther prowl. The winter winds beat against him in a way that was both savage and alluring.
 
Before he had a mind to pull himself from it, the wind gusted against the swell and carried it swiftly to shore. The massive wave beat against his frame and thrust him into the sand. The warhound could not stand against the strength of it at that magnitude, but he felt a flush of gratefulness. Down the stretch of beach, his mismatched gaze caught sight of a thrashing figure against the shallows of the bay. Something in the pit of his stomach churched at the image.
 
Pushing himself to his limbs once more, Ford rushed to where the shark had been washed ashore. His breath rose from his flared nostrils in great plumes that vanished against the tempest around him. The shark seemed to scent the prospect of a kill and churned against the shallows again. It was then that the sea hound saw the bloody red of the killer’s mahogany gaze.
 
The panther became rigid in his place.
 
With the wind that caterwauled across the bay, the warhound was certain that his calls would have disappeared before they were heard. Still, the image of the shark unsettled him in a way that he could not have described to anyone else. It was the image of his ruthless father – it was the spiritual guide of the great leviathan himself. A heavy breath passed through his nostrils and carried the height of his disbelief with it. What were they to do?