Sea Lion Shores danger close

SIZZLE WANT KILL THINGS. [THUMPS CHEST, GRUNTS]

In the morning, Szymon looked upon his magnum opus — a miniature skyscraper of hard-won obsidian, flanked by smaller towers of carefully scavenged white shells — and experienced a gutwrenching, bonechilling wave of clarity.

Suddenly, he knew.

He knew that Doe had left him, ostensibly of her own volition, and that he would probably never find her again. He knew that they had failed their children — had failed Skellige and his children — and he knew that the ocean was only an ocean after all. There was no magic in the blackrock. There was no magic anywhere, anymore.

The bay, only a hundred meters or so from where he stood, where his children had been born and baptized, was only a place — and he no longer wished to own it. He turned away from it, his tail rippling like a live wire in his wake, but before he placed significant distance between himself and his former claim, he sought to sunder the pillars of onyx and alabaster. The shells toppled easily, creating a sound like breaking glass — but the stone fought him. He pushed at it with his paws and threw his body against it until finally it teetered and fell, and then he continued on with a churning hunger in his gut. Saliva pooled in his mouth as he approached the shoals, his sulphureous eyes locking on the dark brown figure with dull disinterest.