Seaside Moors tides

erzulie had taken to marking the outermost boundaries more often, knowing the announcement of her urine would be far more pungent. she intended to cut a harsh mark all around the moors, for rusalka needed nothing the sea could not provide. she herself was growing more round by the day, though her tall legs kept up well with her burgeoning sides.
there, upon her gate, a boy. a pathetic, wary, wisp of a boy. but as her cinnamon limbs carried her toward him, erzulie caught the particular reek of wolves who lived beyond the reach of the tide.
unnatural.
"what you be wantin', boy?" the harlot growled, mismatched eyes hard upon him. this would not stand.