Stavanger Bay Now they're turning us into monsters

@Ford

He didn't know what brought him back here other than morbid curiosity. Maybe part of him hoped to find the part of himself that was left behind somewhere in that cave where he changed into something monstrous in order to survive. It was what saved his life after all. But no, he wasn't here to find any part of the weak man that was Zigzag--as far as Zodiac was concerned, he was dead--never to be a burden on anyone again.

Still, the salty breeze of the sea air moving through his coat, and the rhythmic sound of the waves moving towards the shore brought some kind of comfort to the scarred man. After everything, it seemed the call of the sea was still there, and he had remained as near to the ocean as he could manage, feeling like it was the only thing keeping the pieces together. He came to a stop at the borders, dead ocean eyes scanning the area for signs of life. This pack was not Ironsea, and he recognized no scent that stained the strand, yet he remained rooted in place, curious and intrigued despite himself.

he's wandering the borders idly when he catches the stranger's scent, marking here and there as he walks. it's not a true patrol; he doesn't think himself formidable enough for that. it's a stroll with some semblance of purpose framed around it, he decides. it seems to be of some use today, anyway. he quickens his pace, following the scent until he catches sight of the towering, swarthy stranger lingering at the borders like a ghost. he chuffs softly to announce himself, steps slowing as he nears. his posture is neutral, expression guarded but lacking hostility; he's wary of any lurking stranger who deigns not to call for an audience, but the man has given him no reason to assume the worst yet. he refrains from calling ford for now, hoping to discern the other's intentions first, if he can.

cameo post. skip me unless she is acknowledged. <3

she's patrolling the borders of their bay as the waves longingly lap against their shores. salty winds bless them, carrying the scent of the ocean all around. it is a peaceful day for stormrift and for this she is grateful. their numbers growing steadily as more wolves heed the call of the storm and seas, leading them to their ghastly leader. he is chosen, a seawraith chosen by the great leviathan who snakes around the trenches, to be an ambassador for the twisting ocean.

it is now she notices something: scents, one foreign, one not. curirousity gets the better of her as foreign scents were not all uncommon as of right now, she treads along the borders of their territory lightly. upon her arrival she notices sentinel-- none can mistake his lovely golden pelt for anyone other. the other, who seemed to be filled with hesitance, stands neutral a respectable distance from the claim. amatsu stays away from the pair as the stranger has not called for an audience, but stays near enough to observe, ready to add her teeth to the count if something goes wrong.

After some time he found he was no longer alone here; a soft chuff followed by the arrival of a golden man pulled his dark gaze from the horizon. He stared at the other wolf for a few moments before realizing he hadn't made any sound in response or moved anything but his haunting eyes. Zodiac lowered his head a little and breathed a harsh snort from his scarred muzzle. He couldn't remember the last time he had spoken to anyone, and so he couldn't think of what he should say now. He had no idea why he was here. What was he supposed to say? It had been a long time since he needed to know these things, so instead of speaking he just stood there, somewhat frozen, as he continued to stare at the other man.

Somewhere in the distance came the scent of another stranger, and his heart began to race a little as he tried to rationalize the situation, trying to assure his damaged mind that they weren't here to take him anywhere against his will. He swallowed hard, but otherwise kept his impassive gaze on the wolf in front of him waiting for whatever came next.

But his efforts were futile; there was no convincing his addled mind, and panic soon set in, making him feel as though he were unable to breath. He backed away-one step, two steps, three steps, and then he turned and ran. Running was what he did best after all.