Sea Lion Shores and wolf's teeth

Having relayed and collected further leads on his targets, Theseus departed the flatlands for the shores once again. He followed the familiar path on the levelled ground that stretched from Moonspear that would speed his paws the quickest — past the Weald, and the Glacier, until he came — once again — to the tidal pools and lumbering lions that lay before the ocean’s swell.

In a way he had missed the familiar scratch of sand between his toes, the cry of the wheeling gulls, and the briny air. The touch of salt still set him on edge, but Theseus turned this to his advantage now, so that he felt, within the choke of salt, as someone stronger, as if a different wolf altogether. Sharper, quicker, keener. The ocean was the life-giver to all death-bringers, he could not afford to be anything less.

When he spots the grey shadow on the shores up ahead, he directs his trajectory toward him and offers a chuff to alert the other to his approach. There is something of mystery in the way the other seemed to surface from the sea itself, one which Theseus finds he fears and thirsts for. Might this be one of the number he seeks? The sea breeze snags the fur along Theseus’ cheeks, his neck, and waving tail, to fill him again with the spray of salt that has long become a part of him.