Totoka River it’s yours and it’s mine.

The bite of salt on the air could be smelled from miles outside the vicinity of the sea. It was carried in on the wind, cutting sharp across the yearling’s snout and stinging his eyes. The further they’d ventured, the less he enjoyed it. While Qiao charted their course, Stormchaser watched her and noted her rituals as being familiar, trusted.

When the crone made note of the shifting land, the boy grunted.

The smell of the sea, he repeated internally, features shifting into an unamused glower. The young wolf lifted his head and breathed in, hoping that he might find another scent to battle with the overpowering smell of ocean. Nothing broke through. The closer they got, the stronger it became.

Why the hell are we out here again? Stormchaser growled.