Blackbeak Bluff i have sworn to do

the morn is soupy; sticky humidity unrelenting as it weighs down his lungs, made appealing only by the salty tang of the coastal air. kraken finds himself both well-rested and sated; his breakfast of half-eaten seal left upon the shores of the sound for the scavengers, the gulls fighting over who got first peck. his course takes him west still, from the sands of the sound and into the rollicking emerald fields, glittering with recent rainfall of the buff.

with him, the cairn takes no excess food. loathe as he is to waste what he does not eat he has no secure place to store it until he reaches the bay that hangs upon the lips of the older cairns with a reverence, that he's visited once before that has given kraken no choice but to seek it out for himself; nevermind the unknowing of whether it lays claimed by those women or not. it didn't matter. his decision is the same as before: if it was claimed then he would take it. it is where the cairns have planted their seeds and roots for generations before him and it is where he would plant his own.

the cries of gulls are heard from below the deadly drop where the fields abruptly end, giving way to sheer and rough cut rock wall with nothing — as far as he can immediately tell — to offer a tentative passage down. noting it as lacking usefulness, kraken turns from the drop and puts some space between it and him and continues forth in the grasses weighed and bowed and dripping by the fresh accumulation of rain.