Wheeling Gull Isle old salt kossabone

The woman was more tired than he had thought — he learned that clearly when her volatile reaction evinced her exhaustion.  He saw her quivering, heard the low rumble of her chest and pulled back a bit, as she looked suddenly quite feral; but her demeanor soon relaxed as realization dawn, reminiscent of his own just moments before.  “ee-shell,” he intoned clumsily, pronouncing the sounds of the female’s names rather than the word itself. The man had a simple tongue and butchered any word that required a soft rise and lilt of the voice; basically anything that caused him to forsake his roughhewn alto.  Their time with Riptide’s pack had overlapped for only a short while; Ixchel and Axolotl were there before him, and Komodo was there after they had departed with Tarnish’s gang. They had gotten to know each other well in the short time, given the volatility of the situation.

Ixchel moved forward and stumbled, so Komodo assumed the responsibility and closed the distance between them. He leant his thick neck down to peer at the wound. Molten eyes slitted and focused, and if she would let him, the shaman began to examine the wound. As his eyes perused the small tear in the thin skin on her ankle, he spoke to her. “I saw Coelacanth — “ he divulged, but i lost her. The man grimaced inwardly, wishing he did not bring up the sheepdog who’s relations they all shared — he did not really want to mention how she had fled from him, and he couldn’t find assurance of her safety —  but the coincidence was too large to ignore or left unspoken.