The Sentinels just like a moonlight and a tide

Petrified trees littered the coastline and she walked among them with a certain amount of dignity to pointed steps, graceful and lithe as she weaved through dead branches outstretched and warmed by the sun peering through a sparse covering of clouds stained by subtle light. 

She smelled nothing but brine on the air until a silhouette of another wolf entered her seafoam visage, laid out in pale light. She ventured closer, salt in the air. The waves lapped at her paws and she drew further from the ocean to approach the other wolf.

"It's dangerous to rest here," she warned quietly, keeping her distance so as not to alarm the wolf. "The tides might change while you sleep and swallow you up." The image of the waters rising to engulf the wolf plagued her briefly and she lowered her head, paws sinking into the wet sand.