Ankyra Sound twelve-hundred people dead or left to die

Underwhelmed by the relentless disquiet that humbled her, Caiaphas slunk into a dejected heap once the bird had pried itself free of her (feeble) grasp.

It wasn't evident if it was digestive upset that colored her muzzle or if it was scorn, yet all the same the slender coywolf watched the winged pestilence as it flitted through the treetops, carried aloft by a buoyant and generous briny wind.

She looked to her paws, which still had the remnants of her bile upon them. She withdrew a deep breath and rose, carrying herself unsteadily towards the shoreline. Her distraught fur needed a bath in the most urgent fashion -- with the practiced ease of a coastal wolf the imp slid into the saltwater, a vague silhouette in the stormy sea.