Stavanger Bay in hushed whispers

In place of rest, the night is eerie. Familiarity of the Bay seeps with an unease that Valyri wades against, akin to a crashing current that the High Priestess’ dainty paws stride through as if it were a puddle instead. Composure kept no matter the storm that brews within her heart; the emotions worn on her sleeve, yet she carries them well.
Green eyes meet hers, and a nod is swiftly given; though whatever washed ashore reeks, all creatures must be given a proper end; else nature would be cast in an unbalance further than it already is. Valyri chooses not to be ignorant. Eyes, ears, nose, tongue. The stench is followed, whipped upon the harsh coastal winds.
Her thick fur a mess, twisting one way then the next to it’s bidding—the chaos stronger than ever. Yet Valyri has practice weathering the storm. A glance is given to Nefris, before the High Priestess dares to travel ahead of her. Whomever passed has yet to reach it’s peace, and the longer it remains, the greater damage it will do.