Sea Lion Shores your heart will fly on wings forever in never never land

Atoll stalked the shore, peering hopefully between the large, quivering, barking beasts that laid themselves upon the shore. They were warm-blooded, which was always a plus in her mind, and were delightfully squirmy when one managed to catch a live one and drag it from its place. It was a new prey animal, but one that Atoll was quickly becoming adept at hunting. She was quick enough to dart between their bloated but surprisingly limber bodies, and just strong enough to snatch up the smallest pups and carry them off to be eaten.

It was tired work, but just the kind that Atoll enjoyed. Fast-paced, action-packed, and usually concluded with sweet, squirming young meat.

Her eyes seemed to glow as they landed on her intended target, and she readied herself for the obstacle course before her, stretching like a lazy cat before trotting nonchalantly down the shore. She'd quickly found that it was best to approach as if she had no interest in them. They would bark up a storm when she drew near, but if she wandered enough, they would quickly grow tired of the game and go back to their business.

Humming under her breath, she ducked her head and got to work.

Time passed — Coelacanth found herself unable to gauge exactly how much of it. Trembling, the atramentous sheepdog cross rose tremulously to her paws, the ugly wound that sullied the inky silk of her neck and chest yet weeping in small rivulets that stained the muddy embankment. Dark crimson globules of coagulated blood tangled in her feathery fur; her seablue eyes, dulled with shock, disinterestedly regarded her sanguine-swirled reflection. Swaying where she stood, Seelie pitched abruptly to the side, and only the last vestiges of her natural grace kept her from falling headlong into the brackish delta water again; she sidestepped clumsily, a sick parody of her former dexterity, and in a continuation of that movement began to limp south. Staggering, her tender muzzle hanging so low her lips practically grazed the ground she walked upon, she pressed forth.

She thought she was moving inland toward the river and its refreshing chill — she thought she was going home to Amoxtli — to Crosscurrent — to Selkie and her sheep — and only the gathering of granules beneath her catlike paws clued her in to the fact that she was alone and vulnerable. The sinking sand swallowed up her tentative steps, and she buckled, going to her knees, her hindquarters sloping upward as she tried to rouse herself. But she was tired — so tired. Her eyes were closing, and her chin was resting upon a mossy rock in a river — “I tire. Perhaps a nap.”

Marbas? Marbas?

“What big ears you have.”

“You are like a night sky. Nathimmel.”

“You can call me Marbas — ”

“I am Kierkegaard — ”

“ — a reasonable wolf — ”

“Can you hear them, Shadow?”

“Siren, please, I didn’t mean to…”

Do not leave! Please! I will be a good dog — good dog —

The inky creature crumpled the rest of the way, a puddle of ink, feathers, and blood.

Far-off movement caught the shewolf's eye, and she turned her head breifly toward an inkdark blip on the horizon. Her ears swivelled chaotically for a moment before she bounded off, a familiar scent reaching her on the salty wind.

"Shadow! Shadow, shadow!" she called, singing out the name of the much-beloved girl. How she'd missed her play and affections! And here, now, she still bowed, ready to romp in the sweet, warm sand this time, instead of the foreign waters from further inland. Atoll would have made much better time in reaching her friend, but she stopped to bow and prance still several yards away, waiting for the cat-wolf to bound back at her in turn.

“Shadow! Shadow, shadow!”

The siren of Tara — daughter of Riverbone, the highest father —

Spurred by the joyous, lilting summons, the inky sheepwolf’s body responded before her mind could remember what had happened and where she was; her catlike paws immediately found their footing, but as she swayed to a standing position with only a fraction of her natural grace, a broken and toneless cry ricocheted from her bloodied lips. The desire to find the odd-eared female she had been unable to locate since their first meeting drummed through Seelie’s blood like wildfire, and her feathered tail beat an enthusiastic albeit frail tattoo against her trembling hocks. Still panting raggedly, her sides fluttering with tachypneic unevenness, she ventured forward on legs that quavered and brought her up short. She stumbled but caught herself, limping toward the golden-eyed female who bowed so entreatingly, and the dullness of her seablue eyes found anew their sparkle. I missed you!

Shadow's stumbling overtures to play pleased Atoll as much as her grace had in the falls; it did not matter very much how ungainly a creature was, so long as they were nice and willing to play her games. Seeing that the sweet girl remembered her only further heartened the beta of the bay - her tail whirred like the blades of a helicopter as she bounded the last few feet toward her friend, and only then smelled the sweet scent of blood in the air.

"Aie!" she cried, her eyes finally falling on Shadow's painted chest. "What is this?"

As heedless as Shadow had been with Marbas, Atoll rushed forward and pressed her nose to the wound, sought out more information on the state of Shadow's health, the severity of the wound, the identity of her attacker. The answers, quickly determined, were as follows: As well as can be expected, not as bad as it could be (but still awful enough), and an unknown that she would certainly recognize, should she ever cross his path - respectively.

"Let me clean you up, pretty Shadow," Doe hedged, drawing away and cleaning the blood off her muzzle with a long, pink tongue. "Come into the shade with me, and I'll find something to make it better."

Atoll’s Shadow watched with a weak flicker of her usual enthusiasm as the bright-eyed siren of Tara approached with an anxious cry. She had been beautiful by moonlight, ethereal in her cryptic murmurings and her elusive, flighty mannerisms — but by daylight, she glowed with a halo of vitality and purpose that was vividly, refreshingly real. Having grown up with storytellers and bards, Seelie walked a fine line between fantasy and reality — and there were days she wondered whether the encounter with the odd-eared wolf had truly happened or whether it was merely a figment of her active imagination. The inky ingénue craved the blessed solidity of the other female’s nearness to banish the sick, sick feelings of pain and loneliness — but her last sight of Marbas haunted her still, and she turned toward the river with a whine of indecision that died unsung in her throat.

She could not possibly deserve comfort, she thought, when he was sick and in pain.

Riverbone’s daughter pressed her nose to the ugly, seeping wound and Coelacanth gasped, tears springing to her eyes as her bruised and punctured flesh jumped and quivered involuntarily in response. Her lips twitched into a snarl she could not avoid, but her tufted ears flatted eloquently against her head as her feathered tail whisked a simultaneous apology. “Shade” sounded divine; even if the siren of Tara had no experience with healing, her Shadow ardently wished to escape the beating heat of the summer sun. She longed to trail her lips and fangs through the female’s fur as she had the night they’d met, but the metallic tang of blood was still sticky and bristling on her whiskers. Venturing toward the other girl, Seelie sought to brush the tip of her muzzle against the base of the Atoll’s upright ear with a soft sigh of gratitude, the clumsy shuffle of her paws proclaiming her willingness to follow.

It was rough going; Atoll flinched with each new hurt upon the sweet, inky girl as she helped her to the shadey trees that marked the beginning of the woods - as well as the end of the beach. Atoll stared into it distrustfully for a moment before letting out a soft sigh of defeat - she would have to go in there to get what poor Shadow needed.

Dipping her head, Atoll gave the cat-wolf's cheek as soft lick - I'll be right back - and bounded off into the woods, nose twitching and ears swivelling as she searched for any plant that might be of help. When a patch of yarrow, the common cure-all, came into sight, Atoll let out another defeated sigh and tore up a mouthful to bring back to her friend.

"Chew this, but don't swallow the plants," she said as she came back into view, setting a small clump of the feathery green plant before the injured wolf. It would probably hurt her to use the muscles she needed to chew, but Atoll needed to clean the wound, and it would be better if Shadow could distract herself with her own task. "It's safe to eat, but we need it to put on your wound when I'm done."

Eyeing said wound critically, Atoll tried to imagine the attack. Why would someone do this to the sweet little filly? What could she have possibly done to provoke them into this sort of anger? It didn't make sense, and the more Atoll thought of it, the angrier she became. "Who did this to you, sweet girl?" she crooned, neglecting the wound another moment to lean forward and rub her cheek against the other's. "I have not known you long, but I know already that you could not have deserved this. If I find them, there will be reckoning."

She breathed in the unknown's scent one last time before setting to work, tongue laving gently at the drying blood and torn flesh.

Coelacanth obeyed without question or demur when the siren of Tara retrieved a feathery bundle of green and placed it before her; though her tiny body trembled involuntarily with pain, throbbing fissures of heat fanning outward from her chest and throat, she carefully chewed the yarrow as she was bidden. Its flavor, subtly sweet with just a faint tang of bitterness, could only be classified as vegetal — Seelie found it interesting at best, but it washed from her sullied mouth the taste of blood — my blood or his? — which granted her a welcome respite. Now she could kiss her odd-eared savior, and when the sand-dappled girl leaned in to rub her cheek against Seelie’s blood-and-salt crusted one, the little Groenendael did exactly that — pert pink tongue shifted the bundle of plant matter to tuck neatly into the pouch of her cheek as she shyly licked the underside of the younger female’s sharp, coyote-like muzzle and nibbled at her cheek.

The inky ingénue had no answer for Riverbone’s daughter’s growing anger — her guilty dog’s conscience told her that indeed she did deserve Marbas ire; he had told her again and again the day they’d met that he was not to be touched so freely, but she had found herself unable to obey. It was a complicated feeling to have, for although Seelie felt she was at fault, she retained the hope that one day — hopefully one day soon — she would be able to fix it. It was not within her to feel indignant at the fact that justified her action — she had thought he was dead, after all — and so she merely shook her head. Do not worry. I am well! The protest of her chest and neck at this motion stopped her gesture short, but the thought of this female with her lemon-yellow eyes and dusky gray fur clasped in battle with Marbas’ larger, more formidable, certainly lethal frame wrung an involuntary protest from her. No! A soft, toneless whine billowed from her lips as her stricken seablue eyes ardently sought Atoll’s face. She should not tempt the battle-hardened wolf. She should not come to hurt for any reason, let alone on her Shadow’s behalf. Stay with me. Only stay with me.

The little sheepwolf continued to chew the yarrow — its flavor was no longer interesting, but merely something to be endured, though this in itself was a distraction — and despite the new ripples of pain that sent quivering shockwaves through her body as Atoll tenderly laved her wounds, she felt her lithe frame sway with exhausted weariness. Carefully, she curled her slim haunches into a demure seated position, keeping her forequarters as still as she possibly could to avoid moving the aggravated muscles.

The damage was grisly, but superficial. There were places where Atoll could see the white of bone peeking out from beneath, but further investigation revealed no true worries in that regard. It would most probably scar, but other than that, Atoll was certain her friend would make a full recovery - as long as infection didn't set in first.

"You'll have to stay close for a while," she said gently, nudging the corner of her Shadow's lips to indicate her need for the yarrow. "As long as we keep it clean you should be fine - but we can't let it get infected."

That would be bad. Atoll had gotten a few wounds infected - hear tattered ear among them. Hind had told her it might still stand tall as the other if she'd taken care of it properly, and she quaked at the image of what this would might leave, if Shadow allowed it to be neglected.

Picking up the chewed yarrow in her jaws, Atoll gave it a few wet chomps and began smearing it onto the cat-wolf's chest. There were herbs better suited for this task, but nothing she could scent nearby. The most crucial thing was to simply keep it clean. Sand, dirt, and other debris could not be allowed to fester.

"When the waves are calm, you should go into the water and lie there," she instructed, sternly. "It will sting at first, but it will help you to heal. Stay away when the sea is angry - we can't let sand get into the wound."

She searched her mind for any other words of advice, but came up empty. It would be nice if she could simply bring the girl home and care for her there, but Atoll knew that too much was happening, now. It would not be safe for her friend, with the threat of Donnelaith still hanging over their heads. They had to keep only the fighters, and if it ever became safe for her Shadow to reside there, then perhaps she might extend the offer.

For now, the safest place was here. Nearby, but far enough that none would associate her with the Blackrock wolves. Atoll would check in on her more often from now on, but she could not return with her to Stavanger.

"You have to come to me in the bay, if anything like this happens again," she instructed, gently at first, but quickly gaining passion. "Or if it starts to burn, or hurts too much, or if you get lonely - "

Swallowing a whimper of sorrow, Doe curled herself protectively around the darker she-creature and began furiously grooming the rest of her coat.

This post feels sort of clunky to me. ;-; I shall sleep now.

Atoll’s Shadow did her best — truly she did — to be a good girl and remain still, but her tortured flesh quavered and flinched with each tender ministration. Obediently she allowed the chewed bundle of yarrow to pass from her lips to the other female’s; with a last grateful brush of her lips and tongue against the cream satin of her friend’s cheek, Seelie set her jaw and closed her seablue eyes. Perhaps if she did not watch, it would not hurt as badly. Yet when Riverbone’s daughter began to gently spread the poultice over the wounds, the sheepwolf’s tiny body took up a convulsive trembling. She bore it as best she could, her slim jaws parting as she began to pant softly — shallow, swift breaths that hitched painfully on each frail intake. The invitation to remain nearby lifted Seelie’s spirits, for with Marbas missing and Amoxtli out treasure hunting, the sweet-tempered Groenendael was apt to become depressed — but Seelie would do as the siren of Tara bade her and allow the salt of the sea to cleanse her, keeping sand and debris from sullying the symmetrical wings of puncture wounds. Her tapered muzzle dipped in a weary nod of understanding.

As Riverbone’s daughter began to speak anew, her Shadow could not help but to nestle more closely against her — an airy, toneless whine of need fluttered from the girl’s lips but was soon replaced by a softly thrumming purr at Atoll’s attentions. Coelacanth, not content to receive without giving, gingerly combed her fangs and tongue through the younger female’s fur — she could not manage much due to the location of her wound, for stretching or craning her neck was quite uncomfortable, but she could not stop herself from trying. Although Seelie’s chosen place was the river where she’d last seen the wendigo who had swallowed Marbas up, she felt safer here with the lemon-eyed, odd-eared siren. At last Atoll’s Shadow gave up her attempts at mutual grooming, a broken whimper of defeat burrowing into the bay wolf’s fur, and rested her head on whatever part of the siren that seemed easiest to reach. Devotion set the girl’s feathery tail to waving but she moved very little; despite the pain, she was content here in the coolness of the shade, pleasantly entangled with the girl she had missed so ardently.

Her healing duties over, Atoll began to speak softly to her cat-wolf friend, hoping to soothe her spirit and distract her from her pains while the yarrow went to work. She told her of the Blackrock pack, and the wary wolves of Donnelaith. She spoke at length of Szymon - her love - and Skellige - her lord - and of her dreams and fears concerning them. It was a good life, she told the inky she-creature, but one not yet settled, and that it was a blessing to have met her here, even though she was hurt.

"I'm glad I got to see you again," she sighed, resting her head on an inky flank, so that they mirrored each other in a ying-yang pile of sleepy canine. "Our goodbye was so jagged, Shadow... but it won't be like that again. I know who I am, now."

Deep in her throat, Atoll began to hum. Words came to at once, and soon filled their shadey resting place with a sweet, lilting tune.

"I've been travelling on this land
where my feet don't understand
the red rising ripples of the sea
and in this place I call home
the sky is always painted gold
with the help of a brush
and a sycamore tree."

The desperate need and confusion that swam within the inky Shadow’s sentience died down to a weak flicker as she listened to the bright-eyed Atoll talk. Her feathered sheepdog’s tail weakly stirred in the gold-and-cream sand, collecting granules like tiny fireflies against her atramentous fur — she had kept many secrets in her short life, but the siren of Tara’s were among those most dearly treasured. Nestling her finely-sculpted head against her friend’s sand-dappled flank, the halfbreed closed her bright eyes and imagined the red dirt plains and cracked creek beds — the azure sky shining in startling contrast against the ruddy towers of dusty red stone — the way the storms must have rolled like ocean waves of sound and scent through the canyon’s labyrinthine corridors. Coelacanth herself was not particularly fond of storms, but the telling of them was beautiful. Again and again she rubbed her cheek against Hind’s daughter’s hip — wordless variations of “tell me more,” or, “what happened then?” or “what will you do now?” — but overall, the Shadow’s unspoken message was the same: I am so glad you are here.

The nearby woodland pack was Donnelaith, then — and Skellige’s pack would be founded not far from where the yin-yang tangle of Atollacanth lay. Inwardly, Coelacanth feared for the sea lions’ puppies, but life and death was simply the way of things; she could not condemn the seafaring wolves for their dietary habits. Most interesting to hear about was Szymon — the canyon wolf’s love. Coelacanth had yet to be stirred in such a way; in matters of the heart she was a blessed innocent, even more naïve than Deirdre Stella Mayfair, of whom the little witch doctor seemed to be very fond. What she felt mainly was a mixture of happiness for her friend and worry for Marbas. It was entirely possible that, faced with a more concrete vision of the Atoll’s interaction with her packmates, Coelacanth would feel a twinge of jealousy — but here, in this moment, they were merely stories. Unreal. In this moment — in this particular corner of the world — there existed only the siren of Tara and her Shadow.

Seelie’s tail continued its feeble whirring, her catlike paws kneading into the sand as she tucked her streamlined muzzle more firmly against the Atoll’s flank, deep, steady breaths fanning the cream and silver fur of her lean abdomen. “Oh? Who are you?” wondered the inkdark girl, for although she knew many of Hind’s daughter’s secrets, she did not know her name. It was more Shadow’s style to receive names than to bestow them, but she found herself conjuring up a short list for the younger female: Rabbit, Singer, Pooka, Piper, Tide, and Lure flitted through her mind in quick succession. Yet the mute halfbreed was a lover of words, and found compound words of her own making to be more to her liking. Dusk Singer, perhaps, she thought, rubbing her cheek against the girl’s dusky fur as she sang, or Eventide. Sycamore? Sparrow? Goldbrush? She nibbled lightly at the sweep of the siren’s shoulder.

Deep within her throat, Seelie took up a steady, kittenish purring.

Had she known the inky girl's thoughts, Atoll would have gladly given any and every name she had. Her trust in her Shadow was absolute, and she would not have minded revealing the madness that sometimes plagued her. If she'd asked, Atoll would have recounted their first meeting from her point of view, and explained that Shadow had not been a name, but a title.

But her Shadow could not ask, and so Atoll did not tell. She sang and hummed and groomed while her mind wandered from place to place. Shadow's attacker, Szymon's sweet eyes, the trouble with Donnelaith, what her future might hold... Errant worries mixed liberally with pleasant fantasies. Atoll, too, felt the sweet calm that enveloped their place in the shade. It was good, she decided, to relax under the trees with her dear friend.

"Maybe, when I've been Atoll for long enough, you could come and live with me," she murmured, raking her teeth through the satiny fur along the cat-wolf's spine. She would make sure that no one ever hurt her Shadow again, and she would never have to wonder where the girl had been, of ir she was okay, or whether she'd been eating enough. Because she'd be there, and they would be a family. "But not now. For now, I'll stay with you, and when I do have to go, I won't be far away. It's just straight down the coast from here - you can't miss it, if you follow the water. You can always know where to find me, now."