The days where Mable did not find herself at the beach at least once in a day were few and far between since settling into Whitby.  she had made it her home just as much as she had the hotel she was staying at, and St. Hilda's church.  She was becoming more and more familiar with the waves and the sand and the driftwood and the boats and their schedules and it delighted her.

Today, though, she was digging.

Not for anything in particular.  She had an argument with her brother that morning that still sizzled under her skin, and rather than taking it out on some poor innocent person, she decided she would dig a whole deep enough to bury her frustrations.

And so far, it was working!  She was about elbow deep into sand, and the grains were scratching her hands and her fingers were getting wrinkled from the wet, but Mable felt a whole lot better than she did when she started.  Almost nothing could have paused her in her efforts.  Key word, almost.

Because when a strange but familiar sound came creeping across the wind to Mable's ears, the girl just about froze.  Because that - that sounded like a cat!

Her attention was stolen completely by the sound, which seemed to come from some rocks below where grass ended.  She followed, entranced and endlessly curious.