Coconut Grove this town is wasted and alone.

As fond as he had become of Sialuk, he grew restless. With his paw on the mend, he ventured further and further from their little rendezvous point between the moons (as he liked to say). Today, Caracal decided to visit the beach by way of the weald, hanging a left at the foot of a plateau. He aimed his tapered snout at the distant bay, enjoying the cool sea breeze whistling in his ears.

He thought he heard a voice on that light wind. Intrigued, the yearling pricked his ears and tried to pinpoint the sound, the venture carrying him a little further west into a seaside grove. The scenery was awfully nice here. He stopped to admire it for a moment before he heard the voice again, a little louder and more distinct now as it said, “Are you dead?”

Caracal loped a few dozen yards and found a wolf seated on the sand, facing a rock, where a crab perched. The yearling froze in his tracks, head cocking almost 90° as he took in the scene.