Wheeling Gull Isle roamer

AW! Keeping certain things like leadership vague because not sure how that thread will turn out yet.

There was no purpose to his pace, spare the stop he would make every so often to reiterate the borders that the island wolves now called their own. His fiery eyes would skim out to the water surfaces every so often, his thoughts troubled, though the storm that waged on in his heart and mind did not settle upon his features. Hardened to this life fully, the wraith moved with cultivated prowess, and as he considered the potential of walking across the sandbar when it appeared with the changing tides, he quickly dismissed the idea, for now.

As much as he avoided Aria now, he was not quite willing to leave her just yet — despite his placed role as onlooker to her, rather than the wolf who had stood by her side time and again. She had forgotten it all — the sting of it had stolen his breath initially, but now he could only accept this adjustment with a salted smile that realized this was the way of life. Everything had been taken from him now, and with nothing to lose, the Mayfair needed to determine exactly what his next actions would be.

And who he would become.

I must make note that I didn't even try to resist this thread :3

Ixchel, for all her brass and straight-forwardness, was a wolf who kept secrets as well as any. She craved things she did not voice, and held on to thoughts deemed unfit to share. Some opinions simply weren’t worth the breath, but some things were actually dangerous to say. So despite her fearlessness for retribution, she was smart enough to know when to hold her tongue and bide her time.

Such a time to bide was now, and the islander paced quickly along the coast as she weighed her own options and desires. One such desire appeared ahead, and she watched the aimless black wolf with the burning light in his eyes for some time before deciding to approach him directly. Ixchel chuffed at him, unwilling to sneak upon the well-crafted male lest he react unfavorably to her presence. Wagging her tail, she came to stop neatly several wolflengths from him.

Constantine, was it? she checked, though his was not a name she intended to forget easily. Care for a hunt? For what better way to establish a bond as packmates than to run together with a common goal ahead.

I'm so very happy you didn't resist! <3

The chuff was not what drew his eyes to slide across her slender figure – it was the gentle tease of the wind as it spoke of her presence, and as his fiery eyes shifted over her form with appreciation that he kept to himself, Constantine elicited a low rumble – silent, and yet curious. There had been a certain way the she-wolf before him demanded attention at the meeting, and as she had brazenly coaxed the hint of desire for leadership of the isle wolves, Constantine found himself slightly surprised that she recalled his name. Perhaps he was not entirely forgettable.
 
And he was certainly not displeased.
 
The old Constantine would have cast her a gentle smile – reserved in nature, and one that bespoke caution. This new Constantine, born of the salt waters and of his many losses, was tired of waiting for life to offer him opportunities in which to graciously take. And so as he raked his eyes over her form, he did not make it so subtle that the myriad of gentle colors that played upon her attractive figure intrigued him – and that he found himself quite drawn to him.
 
She wanted to hunt – he was less interested in such things, but the pull of his stomach would deny him other urges for now. His mind drifted once more to the white ghost with silver eyes – eyes that no longer looked upon him with friendship but with confusion.
 
“Yes – Ixchel,” he repeated her own name from his tongue, his voice a low rumble as he began to prowl toward her with purpose. Seeking to close the distance between them, his nose tipping ever so subtly upward to take in her scent. “We can hunt – but then I want to hear of your plans for this place.”