Sequoia Coast where the days have no numbers

Starbuck staggered wearily, doggedly home. Her heart thrilled at the first scent of the see, and she could have cried when at last the dark ribbon of it appeared on the horizon. She swung low to avoid the bay, away from the sand dunes and bunch-grass until she was on the brine-swept grasses of the sea-side meadows. It was here that she began to move in earnest, for the terrain was forgiving and her legs took gamely to such wide fields.

The fields had seemed empty, yet she came upon a wolf. Either they were young or they were particularly small, like her. Hail! she called, for this could have been a wolf of the bay or a newcomer to Donnelaith.