Cerulean Cape we're mortal

temperament: sanguine

despite the patches of rain showers that sprinkle the warming morn — a sign that perhaps spring is closer than he first suspected upon his enterance to the teekon wilds — kraken finds himself both well-rested and sated; his breakfast of half-eaten seal left upon the shores of the cape for the scavengers, the gulls fighting over who got first peck, close to where the bluff melds almost seamlessly into the cape's shoreline. kraken's course takes him west still, from dangerous drop of the bluff and into the crystalline and near-pristine shores of the cape.

with him, the cairn takes no excess food. loathe as he is to waste what he does not eat, he has no secure place to store it until he reaches the bay that hangs upon the lips of the older cairns with a reverence that has given the terrible shadow no choice but to seek it out himself; nevermind the unknowing of whether it lays claimed by another or not. it didn't matter. if it was claimed then he would take it. it is where the cairns have planted their seeds and roots for generations before him and it is where he would plant his own.

the cries of gulls are heard from where they sore lazily above, unperturbed by the spradoic rainshowers as kraken makes his way onward, leisurely enjoying the surprising beauty the cape has to offer.