Stavanger Bay [m] the sparrows drag me down

He was focused enough on his task that he did not notice the other wolf, at first. The rote action of digging for clams, and then cracking them with his molars, absorbed enough of his senses that he might have missed her entirely if the wind had not shifted. Even then, if she had really been nothing more than a passing stranger, he might have kept his head down.

But she would not. He'd know her scent anywhere, no matter how clean it was of all the things that had once meant home to him. He'd known it deep and true — remembered with frightening clarity the way her scruff had tasted held loosely, tenderly between his teeth.

He blinked, and then his head snapped up to look in her direction. His heart lurched, and he called out in a hoarse and cracking voice —

"Marina."

A bark, almost. A burst of noise from a throat tight with disuse. The sight of her stirred something in his chest, and somewhere deeper. Somehow, however, it was cloying fear at the surface of his emotions. He took an unsteady step in her direction, then hesitated where he stood.