Gilded Bay don't go chasing waterfalls

A few curious gulls had landed near where Minerva had surfaced. They were uncharacteristically silent as they hopped along the sand, wanting to investigate the patch of sea grass where they'd first spotted her glittering silver body as it had been deposited; she wasn't there now, though.

Somehow the woman had awakened and gathered enough energy to drag herself somewhere with cover. It wasn't much; the trees were looming out from where they'd rooted themselves eons ago, most of them bare where they'd shed their trunks. The grass beneath her ravaged body was brittle like straw—but the smell was comforting and familiar, so she didn't mind.

It would have been worthwhile for Minerva to take stock of her injuries but it was difficult to discern what ached versus what did not. Breathing hurt, and that could've been from the ache in her ribcage or the near-drowning provided by the sea. Her leg muscles were strained beyond anything she could've imagined, and she couldn't remember how long she'd fought against the torrent when the mother had first reached for her. The entire scenario of her relocation was a mess, and it was easier just to lay still and rest rather than plague herself with blurry recollections.

At least she knew who she was—a daughter of the sea, now more than ever, but in the back of her mind she found herself wondering: but mother, why? Was the Mother angry with her—? Had she displeased her creator and somehow earned this punishment—but was it truly a punishment or merely a new path? There was little Minerva could do at this point beyond rest her body, but her mind was awake and active, brimming with unspoken questions.

Darkmoon hated the feeling of sand beneath his paws. It was grating and was difficult to move along, providing little purchase and giving away against purchase. He grumbled to himself as he trotted along, annoyed but hoping to find a stinking yet nutritious carcass washed up to shore. His search proved mostly fruitless, save for the odd dried up bird or shell he first had to break through. He soon gave up on those; they proved more effort than they were worth.
    Growing sick of the beach, the stand of gnarled trees at the edge of the beach beckoned to him. There, he could get away from the wind and sand before deciding on what next to do. He had spent the last three weeks moving down from the mountains to the coast, and had not yet found somewhere to take up residence. He had not come up against any other wolves - which suited him fine - but he also knew he could not stay alone forever.
    As he neared the trees, he noticed a silvery form layed out on the grass. It barely moved, and reeked of the sea. He turned his nose up at the stench, but moved closer to inspect it anyway. It did not take long for him to realise it was a wolf, and he stopped within a few steps. He lingered awkwardly, unsure of what to do. She seemed haggard, her coat unkempt and skin bruised. He did not know her and cared little for her health, but was curious as to how she had ended up there and what her story was. He cleared his throat as a way to announce his presence, had she not already noticed his approach.