Stavanger Bay lament of the highborne

Embry had planned to head to the Sealion Shores. He had good memories of the place from his earlier days within the Teekon Wilds, and the longer he delayed the more he felt a certain gravity urging him towards the punctured sands. Today, however, he would not be relieved of this pressure.

The skies darkened to an ominous ebony hue. The tympani of distant thunder paralleled the rolling timbre of the ocean, which grew ever-inspired as the turmoil mounted. In a matter of minutes, Embry found himself facing a tempest of a storm. His sea-green orbs widened in a feverish manner as the wind embraced his body, tossing his fur of burnt umber with frenetic semblance.

A few off paces down the shoreline, Embry spotted the leaden form of his leader. Even further still, he could spot a packmate. The two seemed to be looking in the same direction. In the chaos of the storm, Embry did not attempt to call out to them. He observed their body language: in one, alarm, and in both, resolution. And then he saw the shark.

It was menacing and, to his eye at the onset, like that of a monster. The glossy skin and flat, misshapen nose was unmistakable. This was one hell of a creature. The thought of its looming in the sea sent a shiver down his spine.

He glanced back at the curling tide as he set his paws into motion, pacing himself so as to conserve energy should he soon need it. He headed for Ford, and for once he did not feel so kindly toward the ocean.