Hollow eyes catch the shore and suddenly there is depth to them.
Tiamat has tread through forests and around mountains to arrive here and at last, the morally decrepit woman had found her place in [what some might see as] ruin. The nimble-footed creature moved only at the whiff of opportunity; it presented itself in low-tide, where her scavenging eyes caught the pools of liquid left behind by the runaway waters. If any held this place she did not care; moments were here for the taking. She was an opportunist at best, a thief at worst.
She stole toward the tidal pools, titian fixtures set within her face observant as lobes atop her head remained at stalwart attention. The she-wolf feigned unintelligent with quite a dim expression on her features... but when she was beside the water, her faculties presented themselves in the sentient, hungry look that became prominent. Tiamat sought anything of substance. A starfish. A mussel. A morsel left behind by a witless bird that had dropped its own meal out of reach. The lone wolf peered over her shoulder to check that none were near and only once satisfied with her findings did she enter the water, haunches remaining on the shore as she dipped her chest and forelegs into the water.
Tiamat was quick to plunge her muzzle into the water; her fangs held fast to her quarry, and she reeled out of the water, clutching a blandly colored, five-armed star. The slender woman wasted no time at all, parting the creature with teeth that were mindful to the beings composition. In its parting, she licked the morsel clean of what it had to offer until it was but a husk. And once this was done, she looked again into the water, her eyes combing it for anything she might have missed.
It was the scent of another that caught Artem off-guard. His casual lope slowed before he stopped fully, ears swivelling towards where the smell had come from. It was hard to tell amongst all the sea salt and brine that assaulted his nose, the wind lending no help as it changed direction endlessly, pulling and tugging his fur every which way. The boy thought to head onwards, disregarding the other soul before he spotted the lonely silver figure on the shore.
He peered, watching as she pulled something from a tide pool and began feasting. His own stomach rumbled at the sight. With reluctance, Artem emerged from the slope he was perched atop of, hidden among the long strands of grass that peaked out from the sand. Slowly, he approached, keeping his head low. His gaze never left the slender female, though — or rather, never left the starfish she had quickly made short work of. As she looked back into the water, Artem crept forward slightly more, waiting for her to either notice him or move on to another pool. The snarling of his stomach grew louder.
Another starfish. It was wedged between two other useless things, but she lowered herself into the water nonetheless. She might have drowned and been none the wiser to her own plight, except for the numbness that crept to her head that alerted her to something strange. But there was no burning in her lungs that would force her to withdraw. No sign of asphyxiation—only the first of the many phases of drowning—to be seen. It was not that she was talented at holding her breath. It was that she suffered from congenital insensitivity to pain. That this was not normal was something she had learned quite early on in her life. It was a wonder she lived so long, but she had withheld from doing anything too stupid. Tiamat had others for that.
And they all died for her, the
poor things. What had been their names? None stood out.
It was the others monstrous-sounding stomach that alerted the lone wolf to his presence. Her soaked face painted her in a less than pretty light, and suns glare upon her face illuminated that fact as she scowled hideously, looking much like an accosted pufferfish. Tiamat clutched the thing between her teeth (whose
arms moved minutely; she could feel the thing try to walk within her mouth,
blech). She dropped the thing at that instant though possessively placed her paw atop it.
"Get! Scat! This is mine," but Tiamat side-stepped, ready to flee from the spot if she must. She wasn't much of a fighter, truth be told. Even if she could not feel any pain, she preferred to utilize that for things that yielded results that meant being admired by another for some unearthly power.
Which it wasn't. But most could be convinced.