Gyrfalcon's Keep I built this hall of mirrors all myself

High tide brought with it a dark shape feebly struggling along with the waves. Dawn cast a crimson hue along the horizon, turning the bay a shade of mahogany so deep the slip of a wolf might have easily gone unnoticed even to a keen observer. But once she reached the shallows her dark form contrasted enough with the frothy seafoam, even when she collapsed at the tideline.

Her pelt was soaked with saltwater and remained slicked against her form as she eventually pulled herself from the sand and the caress of the waves to try and piece together where she was. Her gaze was drawn toward the rise in the horizon; she might be able to tell where she was from a better vantage point. Anywhere was better than sea level. And so, she made her way inland at a trudge, worn out and beleaguered, climbing her way up the slope, her aim making her somewhat blinded to her surroundings like a carriage horse whose focus was guided by blinkers.