Blackwater Islands whatever happened way back when

the wildling had little luck, finding no more than a mussel that had already been cracked and pillaged in the first of the cloistered pools. 

it was as she approached another set of tide pools some ways down the beach that she first spotted it. the acolyte slowed, hesitant, head bobbing and frame darting as she advanced and withdrew repeatedly -- sniffing at the curious, stringy lump of white.

it had the scent of something canine beneath the brine and dirt and sand. an anxious whisper of a yip escaped from ia -- bumping the thing with her scarred muzzle before jerking back, retreating to a safe distance to watch it for movement.