It was cold, and freezing, and wonderfully windy. Zac wasn't a fan of the weather, but there was definitely something charming about the way nature surged up to clash and struggle against itself. He sat on the upper rocks that formed the foundation of the Slateport lighthouse, looking out at the dense night that pressed down in a black seal against the dark reflection of the sea. 
    Surf slammed against the rocks, flicking spray up at the group. Zac had worn his most waterproof outer coat, and Turtonator seemed unperturbed by the waves. 
    Next to them sat an unfamiliar member of Zac's team: Barbaracle. She had been caught on this very beach, as part of a cleanup effort a few months ago. Since then Zac had been having trouble keeping her focused. She kept wanting to come back here. The rusted shipwreck he had extricated her from had been her home, after all. Maybe she just wanted to go back.
    But the ship was gone now, and Barb was listless. Standing up, sitting down a little ways away from Zac and Boshi, only to wander back to them a few minutes later. It was worrying to Zac. What could he do to help calm her down?