Wheeling Gull Isle luson

She went shallower the next time, noting Heda's instructions, and plucked out a shell—only to find that its halves were already split, and the meat within seemed. . .limp and discolored.

Dead? she asked her hunt-partner, cocking her head. It reminded her of meat gone bad. She sniffed and recoiled; even the sea-salt could not mask the scent of decay. Dead, she decided, and sent the clam shell flying back into the water with a deft flick of her paw.

Blueberry sat, then, and looked at the water. Are there other animals to hunt here? she asked. Besides fish and other sea animals, I mean.

She'd never acquired a taste for seafood, being so young in her childhood here and only living off of mother's milk. Afterwards, she'd been fed with inland fare; this was so far out of her normal that she found herself struggling—though she didn't mind fish, too much.