Stavanger Bay Hope it isn't repetition, though that's the only thing that keeps and takes you

anger, earthy and unwanted, plagued his tongue. this time lestan did not listen; he let reverie's words fall to a soft drone behind the insistent buzzing of his frustration.
she always threatened to leave. he felt that he'd done it once, bad enough. but reverie made ultimatums! didn't she? what about when she'd — her own life.
he didn't want her to 'take care of things.' he was tired of sitting around this cave beside the sea, hunting endlessly in the foam and not knowing what he'd come back to find.
unknowing or not, a good deal of the malaise between he and she was the absence of many other packmates. lestan and reverie had been widely isolated for months now. saltshore would be something, but at present the rich territory felt empty.
this always happened! they'd argue, something would occur, they'd talk, and the taste of hope would be dashed between them. somehow.
this time lestan could not get over her soft voice speaking to him, apologizing, all the blame she wanted to carry — and then the threat.
"i'll take you both to sweetharbor myself," lestan heard himself saying, as though he were a thousand miles underwater. she wouldn't be alone as a parent, and there would be other children to play with for blossom. reverie would have her brother and not be waiting alone for lestan to return. 
he loved his daughter so fiercely, but the mayfair did not think he could be a father in the same way reverie did not want to mother by herself, and this forced such shards of guilt beneath his skin that he felt a sob forming in his throat, one he held back as his eyes rested on the ocean. "just tell me when you w-want to go."