The sea is a symphony. It is a poem of cries and noises and the screaming of gulls and whales. With just its sound, I know we are close to the shore.

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. There is a swirl of sour and sweet smells. I smile. It’s wonderful and, at the same time, terrifying. Werewolves are not meant to be at sea. We should be in the forest, running across the shade of the trees.

I open my eyes. There’s still sea for miles, even if I know we will arrive soon–probably tonight. But in the meantime, I will enjoy this scenery, where...