Stavanger Bay i've never believed

the deeper towards the heart of the territory taisun prowls, he is greeted with clusters of ash trees whose lower reaching branches; untrimmed and left to their own wiles to form a natural barrier. tightly woven branches naturally twisted 'round each other. he wedges himself between two spaced trees, knowing that he could likely go around, but unwilling to put the time and effort in pacing the edges of the territory to find his way to its heart. he assumes he'll find shelter within, and by proxy: fresh water and food sources; the ladder of which he can scent even over the salty brine that lingers and the constant swell of damp earth that the most recent rain leaves in it's wake.

the kill is fresh; them metallic scent of blood luring him like a siren's song lures unwitting sailors to their deaths. though, unlike said unwitting sailors, taisun's steps are slow and hesitant. displaying habitual caution at the likelihood of just finding an abandoned kill.

he finds it ...and a seagull tearing greedily at the carrion. taisun stops, lingering close to bramble, seaglass gaze searching suspiciously. left, right. but never up. he assumes the kill is wolven, naturally. he is so close now, a meal lingering four, maybe five steps away and taisun begins to salivate. still, he hesitates, not confident enough to believe that he would not be rushed by a possessive wolf the moment he draws nearer ...though he hasn't scented any wolves in particular.