Stavanger Bay the girl the size of a gumdrop

Most nights, Qilaq finds herself sleeping outside the den. The puppies wiggle too much and cry too much and and simply… too much.  It isn’t that she doesn’t love them, for the concept is something she struggles to grasp, but she knows the attention of her parents (she’s often reminding herself they aren’t her real parents) has lessened because of them but they don’t entirely shut them her out. Her home is still in the den, next to them, even if she finds herself out in the open and quiet roar of the ocean that masks—for the most part—the cries from the den. 

It is early when she wakes, the sky only illuminating for the day ahead, and spends most of the morning on the coast. High tide is starting to go back out, leaving the treasures behind for her to find. For some time, she collects a pile of large and broken shells and smooth rocks she finds, despite not being able to carry all of her finds back. So, as best as she can, she picks up as many shells and rocks as she can and—unbeknownst to her—a crab attached to the fur of her tail swinging back and forth while clinging for dear life.

With the sun high in the sky, her nose wrinkles and she spits out her things on the ground. Her head lifts, searching the opening of their new den. “Amama,” she’s come to call @Doe since after their time together some weeks ago. Her head turns away as she feels the weight of the grab attached to her now that she’s stilled the appendage but only stares in confusion.