Stavanger Bay i'm a traitor to your flesh, in a stone

There was a soot-headed ija at the borders, trenched in a coat knit of storm-clouds and the froth of the sea. Though she had learned her lesson about wolves at the border when she'd seen Szymon's pelt stained red, she could not help but feel drawn once again to one that shared her blood - especially one with such glowing eyes and so exotic a pelt.

Besotted by the strange garb and penetrating voice of the shewolf, Atoll crept out of her hiding place - one of their outer-most caches, in fact - and made her skulking way toward the stranger. Though she was Atoll now, and was therefore obligated to command such situations at the borders, her nature could sometimes not be denied. Her tail went up because she bid it do so, but the rest of her body remained coiled and ready. Infautuated though she may be, there was still something unsettling about the ija that stood here.

"Hail," she called to the other, ears swivelling as she drew to a halt just outside of Blackrock's borderline. Her eyes raked over the woman's figure once before darting back to her inked face. If need be, she thought she might be able to hold her own until help could arrive.