Ankyra Sound twisted nerve

any :D

it would take a fool to miss the obvious signs of desolation in the cove; the wearied drag of footsteps, the pinched expression of her comrades. caiaphas was reminded nearly daily of saltwinter's depravity, and it stirred a sense of inconsolable outrage in the siren queen. the pups had done their share to slake the wretch of her fury, but alone on the shore there was little to keep the salt queen's mind occupied. morosely she trailed the ocean's rim, keeping silent despite the screams that fought fiercely to break forth from her clamped muzzle.

Whittier had done his best to stay out of the way of the other members of the pack. He had taken to patrolling borders more on his own now rather than with Kjalarr behind him playing the part of slave driver. It had become a routine for him, and had the two-fold benefit of distracting him from his starvation and giving him an excuse to retain his solitude. He burned still over the knowledge of his father's presence in the Wilds, but that was a dull ache to the regret it had inspired in him over ever leaving the Ridge at all. He could have stayed if he'd realized Allure would not need him. He could have stayed and been happy, comfortable. Fed. But no, he was here, starving amidst this band of strangers.

And Jorunn, of course.

A roaring howl of frustration sprang from Whittier as he failed for what was likely the 357th time at catching a fish to eat. Bitterly he strode from he shallows towards the sandy shore with nothing to show for his hours of effort but a drenched coat and heightened sense of self-loathing. He shook his coat vigorously, sending droplets of water flying in a cloud about him before turning and glaring back out across the sea, a string of curses trailing fluidly and loudly from his muzzle.

Whittier was unaware that he was placed at that moment precariously within range of the spider until her scent came suddenly to him, and he turned to set his gaze upon her spindly form like a stretched out clump of seaweed upon the sand. He swallowed and debated running, but in the end simply stood there hoping she might just pass him right by.

she paused as an angry howl punctuated the air; for a moment she thought it her own, for it voiced many of the same frustrations. yet it was distinctly male; her large ears fanned the air in silent tandem as she tried to pierce from the roaring waves the direction of the sound.

she hadn't investigated long before the long shadow of a comrade fell across the blinding sand, the form of whittier shortly behind. she hadn't interacted with this male much, though she tolerated him simply on principle that he was a relative of the beta's. the siren queen lifted her slender jaw and inspected him, hoping he had some sort of morsel in which she could bully from his jaws.

but his jaws were empty, like hers. she sighed, her exhale long and woven with exhaustion. "ave, comrade." the greeting was simple, neutral even -- and seemed to imply some sort of casual connection between the two strangers. whittier was receptive to her tentative attempt at conversation; before long the strand was filled with the soft murmur of their conversation well into the night.

PPing an ending bc whitter ded ;-;