Totoka River foam on the waves

For weeks, now, Moorhen had been away from home, combing the shores for signs of the missing Seelholm. Each time she passed the Totaka River, she stood sentinel there for a day or so - partially to rest, and partially hoping to guard the island even while she was away from it. Not that any but the most enterprising would be able to reach it at this time; the sandbar had been washed away entirely by the toss of the waves. The ocean was a frothing mass of dark blues and greys, and not even Moorhen was keen to test her mettle against it.

The bone-banded raven laid high on the pebbly beach, fussily grooming her paws even as tiny, needle-like raindrops pelted her dark coat. It was clearly a mark of anxiety rather than a desire to be clean. Indeed, Moorhen had rarely been cleaner than when she spent days at the mouth of the river. Time away from the island had certainly been wearing on her.