Blackbeak Bluff pwazon

Alone again.

How he had slaved away under that maddening foreign sun. Honed his body into a weapon of terrible, isolate destruction. Saved the life of a brother. Did all that was asked of him, and more. For what?

A man should not be so far from his home. This rang true for everyone but him. Daniil was a rootless vagrant, a cuckoo bird, a spore on the wind. He didn't even form an imprint on the bed after a night of sleep. He barely left footprints now as he walked to the beach, his path hugging a windbitten boulder.

Seagulls carved low, oblique paths in the overcast sky. Their nasal calls were loud but warped by the wind, which brought him a nose full of pack-scent. He paused, his face inscrutable, and braced his long body against the rock - aware of pack-wolves and their incessant patrolling.