Stavanger Bay we'll go together in flight

a walk through the shoreline turns sour as the stench of something sullies racharra's senses. her eyes, then, are drawn to the droplets of blood. she had been fortunate enough to have not seen it, not at its freshest then. with the blood, she finds the likely sources.

a young man — her age, carries his quarry. racharra's stomach rumbles, to which she huffs. when was the last time she'd eaten, exactly?
she wouldn't dare ask him for his kill, and yet the girl follows wordlessly.