The Sentinels no roots

"It is where I belong," Embry replied with a reciprocal nod of his kashan dome. He noted the newfound depth in his voice that carried across the echoing banter of the sea.

There was a common saying used by the seawolves of his youth; one that Embry had long forgotten. It's funny how sometimes your brain is selective in what it wants to remember, and when. As if upon the ocean tide, the words slipped upon his tongue as fluid as water - a reflex borne of that ancient habit he had discarded all of those moons ago. "May we never lose our tide." 

Embry watched the leviathan leave; watched how he moved like a wrath upon the land. He was well aware that this behemoth understood he was being observed, and so he did not break his gaze. And perhaps it was only the fact that Embry was only just acclimating to the shore again, but something about the sound of the ocean - so intense and powerful in tone - seemed to wane with every step in which this wolf retreated.