Cerulean Cape In Nobody's Eyes, but Mine

His comment got a chortle out of her. As indicated by her answer, crabs didn't seem to be easy pickings. If they behaved anything like spiders—their miniscule insect doppelgängers—they must be reclusive. From what he had learned by experience, they had a tough exterior too. The animals were so peculiar, it wouldn't surprise him if somehow they could bite. Little did he know, one of those dismembered legs was not a leg, but instead, one of two tiny pincers—natural weapons which crabs used to their advantage. A bird's hard beak would be useful for the task of attacking one, no wonder the gang of seagulls had more luck than he. 

Lil' devil. A fittin' nickname. He mused in response, thoroughly intrigued by her speech—the interjected part which belonged to a language foreign to him. Perhaps he'd inquire about it soon. Without missing a beat, she invited him to join in on a hunting demonstration. He hadn't expected her to be so motivated, it was a good surprise and change of pace. McBride gave a nod, then unhurriedly followed her lead. A pool of water abandoned by the tide captivated her attention, and without hesitancy, she stepped in. Only when prompted did he finally get his paws wet. He peered into the cloudy waters, vaguely identifying the half-concealed crab which she indicated, whose shell peeked out from within the sandy puddle-bottom. I see it. Need a rock, for?