Stavanger Bay fromage.

we haven't had one, travesty

Like Erzulie, on occasion, Rosalyn stalked the beachfront moor that had been their home.  She was glad they had left; the rain had turned the place into a grey, sodden waste, and the waters churned in various dips across the stretch.  Their old den was not yet submerged, but the waters encroached, and she would have been afraid to leave the children so close to it's reach.

She marked as she went, for their intention was to return when the sun did.  The scent would not hold well, but it would do enough to perhaps deter the worst of them.  The rain was not keen on letting any claim keep.  It was as though it chased even the memory of them from here.

On her return, she could not help it... she passed by the bay again.  It was on her mind less often now, having grown content with the life she and her wife had formed here.  But curiosity drove her to see what the rains had made of it, and as she stepped on the familiar sand, she saw the sea had swelled with the power of the downpour.  It was good their daughers and son were not yet old enough to yearn for her, because testing her now would be a fatal mistake, the pirate felt.  

Unaware of the presence lurking in the dens behind her, Rosalyn sat, feeling the ever present rain water slick over her fur as it continued to drench her.  It had opened up again with renewed force when she arrived, but she was already too wet to care.  She'd watch the sea for a while, drink it in, and then depart.