click. click. click. Nails tip-tap against ancient stone, paw pads wearing away at a passage worn smooth. Legend tells of a thief that had once walked these passageways. The caves were the veins carrying the lifeblood of his life: crime. A treacherous king, a scandalous pirate. He would plunder and pillage before... disappearing.

And where would they go?

Few have had the grit to venture into the caves long enough to find this beautiful vista. The stones grow wet underfoot from the ocean spray and the air grows salty when the outlook is close. Soft grass kisses the paws of weary travelers and a sea breeze whispers hello. Loud are the crash of the waves, vibrant is the sensation of freedom.

The pirate king has disappeared now and so the vista is all but forgotten...

Some say it lurks, waiting for a new king.