Cerulean Cape High maintenance means you're a gluttonous queen, narcissistic and mean

She'd kept the broken half of rib bone she'd managed to steal from Raptor as a reminder of her victory over him. In the end he'd spluttered and resorted to calling her ugly, losing in a spectacular flash of immaturity. Upon returning to the strand with the bone, angry and flustered, Wylla had stashed it away in her corner of the grotto and put him from her mind. By the time she ventured out again, she had nearly erased the exchange from significant memory.

She was drawn far from Grimnismal's borders for two reasons, but the more relevant one was the scent of rotting flesh on the easterly wind. An obscenely fat seal had expired at sea in the jaws of an even more obscenely fat shark, judging by the size of the chunk taken out of it, and had washed up on shore. Having sat there for several days, the carcass was ripe and sent out a loving siren song on the wind to searching predators. Wylla, who had subsisted on fare such as this for most of her life, heeded its call helplessly, and her tail wagged as she spotted the mound of half-rotten flesh on the beach.