Cerulean Cape ghost; is what they call you

the morning sun reflects off of the surf and in to her eyes, igniting them with sharp amber spikes of color, like a shaft of light redirected off of a parked car; she winces away from it and scowls, but once the color blots fade from her vision the pale girl is hastily distracted by something within one of the aforementioned pools.

ten feet away (or thereabouts, she isn't mathmatecally inclined) a tawny wolf with a strong body bathes himself. she has been following him for a few hours now - probably not very covert despite her compact size and seemingly nimble steps - and kept a confident distance between them just in case he is a danger. the way he fearlessly enters the sea is something out of a romance novel; lucky for him Guimauve is not interested to that extent.

he is pretty though, in a might-kill-you way. she slinks closer with her nose down, poking at the pools and investigating for fish or crabs or loot, and seems mindless in her hunt.