Gilded Bay where man cannot, love can; love will

The bay was plain enough that Moor couldn't really miss the appearance of another, even half-invested in her meal as she was. She prickled silently as he noticed her crouching there and changed direction to seek her out. Her hackles rose, but then settled as his youth became apparent to her — after two seasons spent guiding pups into adulthood, something about this age struck a powerful chord in the dark erne.

There was nothing else truly remarkable about the boy, to her. He was large, but without any years to back and harden him, Moorhen felt safe taking his friendly body language at face value. She stood tall and prickly to greet him, but her tail flickered half-heartedly in the air, as if to reassure him that she was not so scary as she might seem.

His accent, however, sent her thoughts spinning backward, trying to place where she'd heard it before. And his eyes, this close, made her blink in bemusement. There was something familiar about him, but he was too young by far for her to have met him here before, wasn't he?

A sight? she repeated in friendly confusion, forever puzzled by the various bits of slang that today's youth liked to spout at her. I am Moor, she corrected, and laid a large, sandy paw over her half-eaten fish. You are hungry? she guessed, something in her tone seeming to invite him to ask for scraps — suggesting she might be amenable to sharing. She could not imagine another reason for the young man's blatant interest in speaking to her.