The altar

Xairo narrowed his eyes as he followed Zagan's gaze to the churning sea below. The waves crashed against the jagged rocks, sending up plumes of frothy spray. He could feel the salty mist on his face even from this distance. "Water, huh?" Xairo said, his tone a mix of intrigue and trepidation. He knew the dangers that lurked beneath the surface - the strong currents, the hidden rocks, the creatures that called the depths home. But he also knew the power that water held, the way it could cleanse and purify, the way it could be harnessed for their rituals.

With a determined set to his jaw, Xairo turned back to Zagan. He moved to the cliff's edge, peering down at the narrow path that wound its way down to the shore. It was treacherous, with loose stones and crumbling earth, but Xairo was nimble and sure-footed. He had navigated worse terrain before. With a deep breath, Xairo began to pick his way down the path, his claws digging into the soft earth for purchase. The wind whipped at his fur as he descended, carrying with it the briny scent of the sea. The roar of the waves grew louder with each step, until it drowned out all other sounds.

At last, Xairo reached the narrow strip of rocky beach at the base of the cliffs. The stones were slick beneath his paws, worn smooth by the ceaseless action of the tides. He paused for a moment, scanning the shoreline for something suitable to bring back as an offering of water.

"Xairo Saxe"