Coconut Grove a siren sounds like the goddess who

I have to call you something

The sea was like an old friend, or perhaps a distant relative. He thought fondly of his time on the isle, with his older brother’s family. One day, he told himself, he’d find out if they were still there, or maybe how they were doing. 

Beneath the shadow of a palm tree, Sable considered the chipmunk on his legs. The chipmunk considered him back, quite possibly considering what to name him in reply, in the odd squeaky language it used.

Sable tilted his head to the right.

I don’t know what to name you. Another tilt, to the other side.

You probably already have a name, but it’s probably dumb, because you’re a chipmunk.

So what should he even call the determined little rodent who didn’t seem to want to let him go?

They still hadn’t moved on from Shadewood. Masquerade began to feel possessive of the unassuming stretch of trees, where game was plentiful and @Riley could easily make day trips to the nearby beach. They could just… stay.

But more and more, she yearned to go back home. It wasn’t an easy decision, nor one she took lightly. She wound along the tributary leading to the seaside, feeling almost sick with indecision. She badly wanted to tell Riley and confess—they could hash it out between them—but every time she thought of the reception they might receive upon reappearing at the rise, it paralyzed her tongue.

She scanned the nearby sands, searching for him. Riley insisted he would be happy wherever Masquerade led him, though she knew he liked it out here. She heaved a great sigh and began to hang a left when she suddenly spotted a familiar figure seated beneath one of those strange trees that grew near the saltwater.

Sable, she muttered under her breath, already walking closer. Sable, hey!

I might be an obnoxious stalker. :)

A familiar bubble of wine red across his vision, familiar vocals producing the splotch of color. Sable turned his head to regard Masque as she came closer, tail hitting the sand in a relaxed up and down motion.

He grinned, letting his tongue loll for a moment in an odd sort of greeting. The chipmunk visibly looked between the two before chattering something. To Sable’s ears, it could have been a hello, or an incredibly short “fuck off”. He still couldn’t speak to the thing. It scampered off his legs when he stood to shake sand from his fur, leaving the trees to get a little bit closer to Masque.

He, quite eloquently, sneezed. Just a little.

She didn’t even notice the chipmunk until its squeaky voice reached her ears. Masquerade halted in surprise, one foreleg suspended in the air as she gawked at the striped rodent. It scampered toward her and she felt a completely incomprehensible urge to dart away, lest it bite one of her ankles.

The more obvious action was to try to snatch the noisy thing off the sand and swallow it in a single gulp, maybe two. But Masquerade shot Sable a glance, certain that the chipmunk belonged to him in some way. It didn’t make any sense to her, yet it prevented the huntress from giving in to her instincts.

Marigold eyes squinting a little, Masque lowered her muzzle and sniffed toward the creature, stage whispering, Do you live in his butthole?

The chipmunk existed in stunned silence for a moment, before it launched into a shrieking, chattering tirade all the way back to Sable. Who, for what it was worth, was currently silently laughing, one leg folded over his muzzle.

The rodent, in a tizzy of the assumed insult, promptly crawled up to rest on his spine, frazzled and grinding its teeth together. The Redhawk himself was breathless with laughter, wheezing every once in a while to try and catch his breath.

I think you offended it. He managed to sign when he got his bearings, forgetting in his glee that Masque didn’t know ptero, once again.

The chipmunk didn’t like that very much! Masquerade could only cock her head a little as it ran back to Sable in a tizzy. Her ears fell back uncertainly as it tucked itself safely into his fur. So it was some sort of companion. At least he didn’t seem nearly as upset. If anything, Sable looked amused.

Masquerade stood there in perplexity for a moment before asking the obvious question: Why don’t you eat it?

Only after she’d spoken did she register that deft movement of his forelegs again. Was he saying something in some rudimentary language? She wondered. Some gestures were easy to discern, yet she couldn’t make heads or tails of what he’d possibly conveyed just now, other than a general air of entertainment.

Sable watched the confusion, and his only answer was an up and down motion of his shoulders. A wolven shrug, as best as he could pull it off. The chipmunk had been company when he’d had none, and for that simple fact he did not simply spirit it away between his jaws.

He lifted a paw a small distance off the ground, trying to indicate the small size of the creature, then made his shrugging motion again.

Simply not worth the energy, he tried to transmit in his motions.

His shrug was easy enough to understand. At least, she took it to mean he didn’t really know. Masquerade pondered that a moment, then decided it wasn’t really her business anyway. All she had to do was avoid eating Sable’s little pet.

That thought prompted her to ask, Hey, are you hungry? There’s still plenty of leftover deer. I could show you around the woods if you’re interested too. They’re… She paused, an ear flicking as she tried to drum up the right word, eventually deciding on, lovely.

Masque wanted to show him around the woodland she had spoken of, the one she lived in with her mate. Sable licked his nose, shaking his head to the first question and raising his head to indicate the ocean over his shoulder. It had been cold as ice but it yielded him at least something to eat.

He thought, for a moment, about following her back into the woodlands. His gaze turned to the distant peak, far far away from here, where he knew the Vale sat beneath. He needed to go say his final goodbye to the father he pursued doggedly.

Can’t stay long. He finally rasped aloud, wincing at the way the disuse and the saltwater he probably shouldn’t have swallowed burned at his throat. He would come back afterwards, maybe, but this was something he needed to do.

He spoke three words aloud, catching her by surprise. They were barely louder than a whisper, though quite clear. Not for the first time, Masque wondered how he had lost his voice. Was it permanent? Or just a temporary ailment? It felt rude to ask about it.

But it made her realize something. Although his speech was clearly limited, he could speak. Perhaps he could even communicate with his limbs. They were still now, though Masquerade stared at them for a beat, wondering. Perhaps she would ask about that later.

For now, she only said, That’s absolutely fine. It’s just good to have some company for a little while. I’m so glad I have Riley—that’s my mate’s name—but we don’t see others very often out here.

Offering him a little smile, she motioned with her head and turned. She frowned a little at the sand sticking to her paws as she led Sable and his small passenger in a southwestern direction. Masque spotted the telltale twinkle of water ahead and knew they could follow the tributary inland to the edge of the shady woods.

He ambled along at a sedate pace behind Masque, the chipmunk finding a home between his ears. Its eyes were locked on the wolf leading them, obvious suspicion on its rodenty face.

Sable snickered to himself, the sound only rolling out in inaudible snorts. 

I think I’ll call you Hen. Short for “mother hen”. The chipmunk, as if hearing his thoughts, squeaked and squawked a few times, tail jittering, before vanishing down his neck into his shoulder fur.

Again, he just snickered.

She glanced over at the sound of a snicker, then faced forward as she focused on finding a shallow place to cross the stream. Once on the far side, she paused to give her dark paws a dainty shake, waiting for Sable to join her before proceeding into the woods proper.

Masque didn’t bother pointing out the scenery. She headed directly toward the carcass, allowing Sable to enjoy their surroundings in companionable silence. He probably smelled their kill long before they arrived. Though it had been a few days, the meat was still somewhat fresh and there was plenty of it.

She came to a stop beside the dead doe, marigold gaze scanning the forest momentarily before she looked Sable in the eye and said, I was hoping we’d find Riley here so I could introduce you. Maybe he’ll turn up. In the meantime, help yourself.

Masque led him into a dark forest, and for a moment, he thought this might be the part where she murdered him. No witnesses, in the dark, he was in a stranger danger situation if he’d ever been in one.

But she’d given him beaver butt, so in this he would trust her. Past her he walked, tugging a piece of the carcass into his mouth. After chewing a moment, he inclined his head to the area around them, then nodded serenely.

Nice place. Except for the possibility of back alley murders, but Sable didn’t mind a little crime.

While he stood over what was left of the dead doe, Masquerade slowly patrolled the surrounding stretch of woods. She made sure not to lose sight of him, though she carefully surveyed the woods, making sure no unwelcome guests encroached during Sable’s meal.

She ranged closer to him when she sensed he might be almost done, voicing a question that rattled around in her brain: Is your chipmunk male or female, do you know?

Perhaps it was a silly question. She wasn’t much of one for small talk, usually, though with so few opportunities for conversation these days, Masque would indulge herself for as long as Sable would entertain her.