Stavanger Bay water laps

”B’en ouais, sure sure,” she chirped, reaching over to nip playfully at the air between them. ”Den I sit on the driftwood an’ make you pull me aroun’ if you be so strong!” she laughed, picturing with amusement how silly it would be for Sobo to tug a hunk of driftwood along the beach while she sat on it like a queen on a throne. 

Her brother’s insight was wise, and she nodded. ”Dis be true. But do not forget dat not all wolves be raised an’ baptized in de brine. Some perhaps play in de surf an’ fin’ de fury of riptide. An’ when dey end up on our shore, dey be trespassin’, sure, but if de sea see fit for dem to survive, mebee we too see dey are forgiven for deir trespasses.” She said. 

He seemed to have a fondness for a land more even and soft underfoot. She flexed her paws in the sand. ”It is nice here. Soft, even.” She said. ”A good place to come an’ think, if dat is what you look to do.”