Cerulean Cape t'as même voulu t'faire ma mère hein
mais oui on se connait bien
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annunziata kept the cerulean sea to her flank, her toes leaving delicate indents in the glittering sand as she strolled under a high noon sun. the chatter of the waves and the quiet symphony of wind played her pelt. songs strummed by nature, of hope, and rest, and freedom. she nimbly stepped as a lap of coruscating tidewater threatened to overtake her, whitecap water frothing around her thin legs.

it was not her intention to linger here, but of her travels insofar, this beach was simply by far the prettiest vista of pastel blue and faded, muted sand.

deep & dark
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A miserly Churchill trotted loosely down the sunbright beach. His tongue lolled, and his skin twitched, and he couldn't be bothered to open his eyes wider than a squint. He seemed mostly dry from a fruitless ocean experience a half hour ago, but his dark fur was patchy with sand, and he couldn't imagine ever getting it all out.

He thought he might try to fish again— hating to be bested by the tart and relentless waves— but more than this he wanted to forget the taste of saltwater. It was up ahead that he spotted another wolf on the shore. He slowed slightly but didn't otherwise alter his course to either approach or avoid her. He simply carried on, turning a dull eye her way to make sure she stayed put.
mais oui on se connait bien
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it was the swell of power under the waves that enamored annunziata, who had never seen such tactile and commanding grace in nature before. the buoy of cerulean water and the slap of the pounding sound was all new to the woman, who drank in the sights with child-like wonder.

the fury of the beach was not the only mighty thing to muster annunziata's attention that day. her hazel eyes had wandered from the rising waves to a shadowlicked figure, which she suspected seemed to have noticed her. oddly, he hadn't approached. annunziata lifted her muzzle in attention, ears pressed ahead as she watched the stranger wordlessly. as he pulled closer, she caught the arc of a heavily squinting gaze - unsure if it was directed to her, the fair woman simply clapped her jaws shut and sat in the sand, curious to see if he would pass her by entirely (as it appeared he fully intended to do) or change his mind and seek her company.

deep & dark
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He passed her, but not without eyeing her severely; Duskhall's interested expression coming off more like a leering scowl than anything of great fancy. She seemed to keep an eye on him too, which they all did, he'd noticed over time. He walked on— even picked up his pace again— because he wasn't sure he wanted to know at all what it was they all saw whenever he ghosted by.