Sea Lion Shores a change of pace

@Szymon or anyone you wanna throw in if you wanna! otherwise AW!

Her time was spent flitting from area to area, looking through different lands. Today Isley found her paws firmly planted in the sand, her beautiful meadow traded in for the crash of the sea and the cries of the gulls. Her firey coat wasn't going to hide her at all given the sandy pale colors or the briney waters. She wasn't trying to blend in anyways, she knew that was not possible and she had no expectations of something so silly given that she had nothing to even hide behind. 

Isley's gaze was fixed on the water, the churn of the seaspray up into foam, the choppy motions as it crashed against the storm. She wondered, idly, what it would be like to be swept away, to become one with the sea - perhaps even grow gills and fins like a fish. It was a fanciful notion, but in her youth she could afford a few moments to the folly.

The wraith had not wished to spend very much time away from the golden Sharkbait. He had felt a possessive nature rising in his gut and it had finally settled in his chest with a dangerous fury. The swarthy brute had only wished to keep the child close to him and to allow for her to accept him as her father, but he feared that her blundering father would wash ashore and he would be forced to go to war over her. It had bothered him so that he had scarcely eaten and his visits with Deirdre had become few and far between. The success of their blessing had been a relief on him, but the leviathan still carried many concerns. The ghostly vision of Ksenia had not yet faded from his mind and he knew that she would not be gone for long – that her nature would be to destroy him and the home that he had built. The thought of the pale girl caused his fur to prick and his heart to beat in an irregular fashion.
 
The swarthy brute had taken to the beach in hopes that the incessant barking of the sea lions would flood his mind and drown everything else. Still, as he inched further and further away from the Blackrock and the small child he’d left at home, he began to grow irritable. Skellige was not the type to abandon his fight, but he knew that taking up his fangs and claws would solve nothing. He had been thrown into a war that could not be fought with his brute strength. As he padded along the sands, feeling the brush of ocean water against his ankles, his russet eyes caught sight of a bright red figure.

I felt like both Cairn brothers would prove to be a little overwhelming. [pets Isley]

The atramentous sheepdog cross flowed with natural ease over the sinking, undulating expanse of sand; her nimble paws scarcely stirred the golden granules that tangled within their feathers as she left the sanctuary of her den for the sea lions she loved so dearly. She had put off visiting Atoll for long, lonely weeks; the wolves that now inhabited the bay were intimidating and fearsome, and the summer heat was oppressive. Too, she had often found the heavy veil of melancholy too ponderous to carry. Now, despite her waiflike appearance, she felt better — stronger — and she wanted to while away the time with the odd-eared siren of Tara. She had even found a gift of sorts — the intact shell of a nautilus that had washed ashore. It was beautiful — and useful if one wished to carry water — and Coelacanth had dipped it again and again in the river to clean away the salt and sand, leaving a gleaming pearl, russet, and orange marvel.

The earth dipped as she neared the shoreline, the raucous barking filling her ears and her heart — long, slender legs adjusted automatically to carry her weight without faltering as she maintained her swift, legato stride. Her dancer’s musculature, honed down to fine lines that were sharp and angular in places that ought to have been smooth and curved, shone through as she danced a neat sidestep and drew still — she was not alone. Before her, and slightly to her right, was a female as red as a fox — at this distance, the color of her eyes could not easily be gleaned, but the darker cinnamon fur of her topside and tail were clearly evident along with the cream fur of her underbelly, throat, and chin. She was beautiful — but she was a stranger. The inky ingénue’s skittish and shy nature had been aroused by the events that had befallen her of late, and intently she weighed the merits of fleeing against remaining. Loneliness won over wariness, and she crept a few tremulous paces nearer, but in the next moment, she noticed him.

Atoll’s leader, the king of the bay, padded with insidious quiet through the ocean shallows toward the fox-red female. He took Coelacanth’s breath away. She had seen him before, but only as a silhouette among other silhouettes — and even at a great distance, he was clearly a large beast. At this nearer vantage point — though Seelie could not be precisely considered close to him — his hulking behemoth’s musculature was terrifying. His pelt, a fathomless black as dark as the sea in a storm, was marked with a series of salt-white stripes that resembled the bones of a rib cage, and he strode forth like a creature born to rend and destroy. His every movement seemed to hint at violence, and Coelacanth could not fully understand why Atoll had pledged her loyalty to him — they drew such a sharp contrast! Still, the siren of Tara, warm and bright and soft, had spoken of his kindness, and though it was difficult to envision, Seelie held on to that knowledge.

Setting the heavy shell carefully in the sand behind her, for she did not wish it to be taken from her, Coelacanth made a quiet, demure approach, keeping a safe distance away — she was no fighter, but could achieve breakneck speed despite her recent recovery from injury. Lifting her streamlined muzzle, she produced a soft, airy whuff of greeting, her tufted ears skimming back against her narrow skull in automatic submission as she regarded the two full-blooded wolves. Her ink-feathered tail whisked an appeasing greeting, then curled tentatively around one hock in shy indecision.

It was unsettling to feel eyes upon her. It happened and she felt all notions of folly fade from her and she turned to regard a male approaching, the figure cutting and impressive across the horizon. Isley was immediate off put if by nothing but the heady musk of a male approaching and her tail curled around her paws for a moment. Before the male had approached her, another figure seemed to manifest from nowhere and Isley glanced at the inky figure, noting with curiosity the difference between the assumed hybrid and the other wolves. 

There seemed to be a trinket of some sort and the woman was curious about it but still. The figure of the male made it so that she had no real desires to do more than let out a low chuff in response to the sounds the dark woman had offered. She did not know a thing about either, and it was horribly prejudiced of her, but she had been that way thanks to the ingrained standards her mother had raised her in. For a moment her green eyes cut back to the sea as a gull's cry drew her attention. 

Unable to help herself she glanced back between the two, unaware if they knew one another or had any sort of connection at all. She was doing her level best to maintain her own body; to give nothing of other than a quiet sort of regard for the two. She did not want them to know she was uneasy.