Rowan
Mist was rolling over the muddy gray water of the inlet, the waves crashing into the rocky, seaweed-covered beach as I pulled on my socks and boots. The air was heavy with salt and an earthy smell of minerals and fish. The mountains beyond the inlet were cast in a soft pink glow as the sun began to rise, the soft violet-blue sky giving way to streaks of fuchsia and gold.
My feet were sore as I walked up the beach toward the village. Running on the sharp, rock-laden sand always cut into my paws, but the snow was still too thick and rotten to run my wolf in the nearby mountain valleys.
I reached the rock where I had left my backpack and shifted back to my human form, then pulled my sweatshirt over my head, the thick fabric a welcome warmth against my chilled skin. I finished getting dressed and, slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I climbed up the embankment and across the long field of brush, the village twinkling in the sunrise in the distance.
“Morning, Rowan!”
