Sparrow was about to haul her ass back up (down?) to Auster to try to convince the Hallows to give Artisan back. YEAH, they raided the pack and YEAH they planned on taking goodies, but that was pack life and alls well that ends well. Besides, Sparrow had some good ideas to trade goods for her somewhat measly packmate. So far she had some smooth, dark sand in a jar topped with a few seashells. She planned on bringing booze too, but she needed one more shell. Or two. The PERFECT shells for trading for Artisan and pushing any hard feelings under the metaphorical bridge.

With a happy swing in his step Sunder trotted along beside Sparrow. He ambled this way and that as things caught his eye, but once his curiosity was sated he came right back. Occasionally this meant he came back with something, but anything he found, be it a neat rock or a piece of driftwood dying to be whittled, got stuffed into a pack that slapped noisily against his side with every step. He knew what was up with Artisan, of course, and had offered to help Sparrow look for the best seashells. "Whata we looking fo exactly? You want da big curly shells you can hear da ocean in? Or lil shiny ones, maybe? Oh, I know! Dos lil half dollas?" Those were all, as far as he was concerned, good options, but he didn't know what all Sparrow had in mind. ""

Sunder, whose companionship was growing on Sparrow like the seashells grew (appeared?) on the shore, asked what all she was looking for, giving a few suggestions. Sparrow considered them and kicked a large but cracked shell out of the way. She hummed and tossed her glance to the sky, then the ocean, then the sand, and finally to Sunder, "I don't know, but I'll know when I see it." She angrily kicked a shell out of the way. "We need to find something that's worth a whole wolf, so it needs to be perfect, grand, maybe somehow a shell that looks like Artisan?" She tossed him a questioning look, "Do they make shells like that?"