It is quite some time that that Enoch and I spend by the water's edge; he continues to explore the crevices, gnawing at the driftwood as he does so. When I have taken my own fill, I seek out the fish within the rock pools. It is with some effort that I am able to grasp one of them eventually, cornering it to the best of my ability within one of the many outcrops. Though my teeth bleed through its slippery flesh, it still flicks about as I present it to Enoch - he is more than eager, then, to relieve it of those final painful moments. He seems almost gentle in the way that he bites through it, instantly stilling it where it once desperately sought freedom. I say nothing on the matter though I note it closely.

Now, however, the ocean begins to recede. I am not eager for him to grow too curious of the muddy flats left in the low tides - they are, after all, dangerous to any wolf let alone a child. For now, I urge him towards his mother's den with his silvery prize. I will be quite curious to see whether he surrenders the prize over to his sister and mother or whether he will keep it for himself - just what kind of child is he, after all? They are, at this age, a mystery even to those that produced them.