It had rained, and the air was bitter with the chill of the coming winter. It happened quickly, the dropping of the leaves and the first bites of frost. But it always seemed just a bit warmer by the ocean. That, and the soothing crash of the waves was a gentle serenade to a hostile and wandering teenage mind.

Mazikeen dipped into her familiar trail, banking West out of Northfall and toward the sandy shore. Soon, winter would make this walk impossible. The sand would grow too cold, and ice would crust along the edges of the shore.

So she would enjoy it while she could.

The overcast sky cast the entirety of the world in shades of gray — but Mazikeen preferred it this way. It was less stimulating … and provided a far more dreary ambiance. Plus, no one else typically bothered her when the weather was like this. Well, no one but Achlys, and he was never a bother.

Hm.

Something at the edge of the shore caught her attention. A pile of seaweed and sludge that was … moving. Was that … fur that it wore? The edges of her hackles tingled, and the embouchure of her lips cast into an immediate firm line.

She should leave it there.

But her curiosity was far too intense. Far too morbid.

And so she trailed closer, long legs pressing through the freezing, wet sand. It was only upon further inspection that the pile of goo began to take the form of a wolf. But Mazikeen knew that the otherworldly worked in mysterious ways — and her guard remained as raised as her hackles.

Mazikeen’s gaze was unreadable, her head tilting as she gazed toward the sea-creature. It certainly didn’t look like an ocean monster — she’d imagined that Jörmungandr or the Kraken were much larger and far more scary than this.

Her head tilted the other way in silent appraisal.

Maybe it was a cryptid.