Moonstone Quarry Am I handing you mine?

Tahoe had travelled a far way from the sea, enjoying a short excursion. He didn't plan to be gone a considerable amount of time; barely a day or two. This was not a scapegoat to escape his responsibilities by any means, but rather a trip to scout much beyond the borders. In truth, the scent of an elk herd had led him farther off than anticipated. Might as well explore, while he had the chance. Perhaps he might even find someone worthy of recruitment. He would prefer not to though, if he could control anything. 

The quarry had caught his eye before, but he had never chosen to investigate it. He now stood at the lip of the decline, peering down into the dark stone basin; the gleam of a pool catching his eye. He was parched from all his travels and desired a drink. McBride found it ironic that he lived by the ocean—such an enormous collection of water—and was unable to drink any of it; as he had learned through trial, and subsequent error. With cautious ease, the man navigated down the hard terrain. 

The gentle plash of water made him pause on his descent, stance rigid as he listened closer—ears perked. His eyes found a pale, half-submerged being below. He observed them for a bit before letting out a gentle woof to announce his presence.