Stavanger Bay TiP TOE WiNG iN MY JAWWDiNZ

And then there she was, feeling the strange crust of the sand beneath her paws for the first time, a rough sand, made of the littlest of stones and minerals, but warm to the touch until suddenly it wasn't. A shriek and a sudden jolt of energy sent her back a few paces the moment she was touched by the wet, cold blue. It was strange to feel it, strange to see, strange to smell, new in every way for the red-haired cairn, but somehow familiar enough for her to want to try touching it again.

And she did, this time with more of that bold nature that characterized the striped girl. First it was her paw, which was swallowed by the sea for a moment. Her still-blue eyes followed the current, up and down the shore as the waves waved, and the excitement grew by the second as she got used to the water's embrace. And then it occurred to her that perhaps the sea would be a better contestant than her brother and sister, so far it seemed to move a lot more, at least. She attacked, a snap of her yaws and a blow of her claws, but it defended itself, thrusting itself to her in a splash. She cried again, in distress for the frailest of moments before the playful rage came about once more. Back and forth she went, hitting the water with her red paws every time the tide reached out to her, and every time it came back to her with a wet splash.