Ankyra Sound Let mercy come and wash away what I've done

The end of Kjalarr's patrol took him to the shores. He had risen before the sun — not an unusual thing for the scarred northman who had always preferred the shadows of the night to the illumination of the day for that it put him on a level playing ground that his monochromacy had stolen from him. Of course, he knew nothing different. The world had always been endless and varying shades of white, black and gray to him. It was only since he had been promoted to Beta and further then to Alpha beside Caiaphas that Kjalarr had forced himself to become a beast of the day, too. His duties demanded it and over time it had became easier. Dream Ragnar had told him that it was because his touch of “sight” — the ability that with proper training would have enabled the viking to be a Seer. As it was, he was clinging to a fading culture carried on because he was a Ragnarsson and it was his duty though without his father as a guide there was so much that Kjalarr didn't know.

He gave his head a slight shake and offered a soft snort to dispel those thoughts as he reached the end of the shore and the end of their borders where they tapered off into the shore, the cold sea water lapping at his sand colored stockings. Gaze of caribbean ringed with silver near his pupils studied the monochrome sea, drawing comfort from it despite that he knew it's mighty and terrible power. It had saved his life once — washed him up upon these very shores, three months old, half drowned and malnourished until Scimitar had found him, taken him in and raised him as one of his own; only to remember that this very sea had taken and spit out Whittier's body.

Kjalarr peered away with a deep inhale of the salty brine which kissed at his cheeks, sticky where it clung to his fur. He moved then, walking through the high tide knowing that as the day wore on the tide would recede. The sound of humming caught his attention and Kjalarr drew to it, thinking for a moment that it was Maude and wondering why he was disappointed when he saw that it wasn't, and attempted to stifle the guilt he felt at that. He recognized Ondine well enough though he realized he'd never yet spoken to her. She smelled of saltwater, of saltwinter and blood (presumably where it covered her muzzle). “Ondine,” The alpha male greeted her with a friendly smile, his tone light, jovial and lilting with his accent. “How are you this morning?” He inquired as he drew nearer.