Ravenshook Cliffs of salted crimes

That's perfectly fine! Thank you so much for joining! also please bear with me as i get used to this alternate personality, lmao. this is a new writing experience for me. :p c:

 

The coywolf's dreams were vivid and mad things moving so fast that if he were to look, to attempt to make sense of the images that bled into one another at a rapid fire pace it might be enough to give him vertigo. Unaware that these strange dreams of vicious tides — an ocean tossing him to and fro as if he were nothing more than a rag doll to it's incredible and inspiring power — came from his distorted equilibrium and the hit to his cranium that he'd taken he fought against them, fought to surface from the depths of the roiling ocean, to wake up but eventually gave in to the will of the sea. Whispers repeated a word over and over in his head like a mantra — a word he'd heard before, perhaps in warning and definitely in passing. Riptide! their whispers became more and more insistent, less suggestive and commanding. His name, he thought. They were telling him his name. When the last of the fight ebbed out of the coywolf he simply let the sea of his dreams carry him to consciousness though the moment he began to become aware of his body he immediately wished that he hadn't.

His paws twitched first, and slowly he regained control of his body in it's entirety, and when he did he became aware of the ache felt in the marrow of his bones. He was not sure what happened but all he knew was he felt like he'd gotten into a head butting contest with a ram and then a herd of deer stampeded his body. Nothing crushed, nothing broken but he was bruised and he felt every one of those bruises with an otherworldly realization of the nerves in his body. There were so many of them and they were all screaming in protest. But that wasn't all he became aware of. It took a few seconds to tune out the palpable hum of soreness he felt before he realized that something very warm, albeit very wet — a tongue — was lavishing against his torn flesh. He tensed and let out a hiss of protest, peeking a fiery red-orange eye open. His vision blurred for a moment and he swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat, letting out a low groan though of pain or the giddy excitement of attention she was giving him he wasn't immediately sure.

Riptide hadn't gotten a good look at her but he could smell her just fine. A hint of Skellige's scent was upon her fur, a name, scent and face he was conveniently aware of, given the selective amnesia and the complex birth of Riptide and what the aspiring Witch Doctor intended to be. A low giggle left Riptide's lips as he regarded her after his vision ceased to blur and distort itself. “A lover, perhaps?” He inquired, unsure of what they were to one another, not even sure if they knew each other at all. On that, the spirits were silent much to his dismay. “What happened?” He inquired shifting his front paws slightly, wincing visibly, as he — slowly — lifted his head to better study her.