Sea Lion Shores danger close

“It?”

Szymon was off like a shot before Moorhen’s tongue clicked the closing consonant of her monosyllabic query. He threw himself at the pinniped, a barbarian with nothing to lose, his broad paws gripping the sand and throwing it behind him. Lean jaws cracked wide and snapped shut on whatever they could reach, the tight coil of his hindquarters propelling him forward with disproportionate rage. The thunderclap of his maw rang with nefarious intent. He was a rawboned, hard-bitten wolf, but his smallish stature and unimpressive bearing suggested he shouldn’t have been capable of such savagery. He was only marginally aware of Moorhen’s presence and did not speak or slow or stop until she commanded him to, or the slippery sea lion stopped its wild thrashing — whichever came first. In the tense, waiting stillness that followed, he shrank back, licking blood from his lips, painted with garish streaks of crimson. “Wh-Where?” he rumbled weakly. “Where is h-h-h-home?”