It was late—nearly morning, actually. The barest filament of sunlight was just beginning to spread across the horizon but the sea does not care. There is nothing amiss; the sea moves constantly, drumming across the stacks of stone. Foam builds between them and then the tide draws back, repeatedly, endlessly—it has been this way for so long, and it would not cease. The sea did not care as it wore away the stone. It did not care when it deposited layers of seaweed and shell across the lowest reaches.
By the time the sun has risen to a golden band of light, and the summer warmth begins to catch the raucous water, there is something else upon the irregular shore. The tide is coming in, pedantic, almost lazy in its administration. It deposits a bundle of dark grey netted in slick green weeds; after a moment, as the sea returns (perhaps to check on its gift), a thin tendril of red drifts from the bundle and muddies the water.
In time, he would be dead. Expectant of this, waking gulls begin to take flight to find themselves a meal—but they find him, this sad, useless, unwanted thing, and begin to call for reinforcements.
Following the birth of his children, Stockholm has become both more protective and more reclusive. He spends most of his time with Seelie in the Labyrinth, which is a weird place to want to give birth, in his opinion. Seelie never seems to worry that they’re going to topple over the edge of her bowl-like den and fall into the water, though; and he’s not dumb enough to argue with a new mother about where she should raise her kids. He’s known cats to give birth in some of the weirdest places imaginable, and honestly? If she wanted to have babies on the edge of a cliff, he’d make it work, stretching out his larger body to keep his children from being swept away.
The sound of a howl draws him reluctantly from his mate’s side; but he moves swiftly, hearing the urgency there. “Hey, Faeryn, Maegi,” he chuffs warmly, arriving on the scene. His brow furrows and his cropped ears prick alertly as he takes in the scene and moves closer. It takes him a few seconds, but recognition sparks in his golden eyes. “We met him at the Hunter’s Moon, remember?” he asks the blue wolfess, then explains to Maegi so she won’t feel excluded, “Seelie’s friend. She calls him Mouse.”
There’s no question in his eyes now, just a quiet certainty. Mouse is injured, and they need to move him inland, but he doesn’t want either of them to risk getting bitten. “Stay back,” he rumbles a low warning. Even near death, those jaws are still a danger — so he howls to summon Moorhen and Hemlock, and then tests the body with a firm nudge of his muzzle between the shoulders. It’s clear from this close vantage point that something got the young wolf around the neck, which doesn’t bode well.
The body was a mess, but it was lucky too. The fall from such great heights had pulverized parts of it — broken ribs, cracked the pelvis — and then the subsequent tossing of the body through the water, and its slam across the irregular shore where it had been netted by weeds and forgotten, left limbs twisted at odd degrees and various lacerations from the stone across the flesh. The chances of this amounting to any form of life, even after many months of rehabilitation, were slim. Surely the wolves that gathered were aware of this — did they dare take the chance to save an old friend from the eternal sleep? Could they? Time would tell.
For now, blood continued to seep from the deep wound upon the body's throat; with some tending, Maegi had managed to prevent excessive blood loss beyond what had already occurred — but the poor mass was soaking in salt water, struggling to autonomously breathe, and would not be long for the world without intervention (perhaps even a miracle).
Please let Coelacanth post next. :)
A quick assessment of the situation tells the Gampr that, much as he hates to pull her away from their newborn children, Mouse needs his Aralez. He looks up just as Moorhen and Hemlock arrive, @Reed following in her mother’s steps; and his golden eyes flick somberly toward Faeryn. A shake of his head indicates that he really doesn’t know whether the guy can be saved at this point. “Stay here,” he murmurs succinctly. “Stay with them.” He trusts Faeryn immensely; she has stood the test of time with the seawolves. Then, he wheels around, moving at a quick clip to fetch Seelie.
when she first sees the body her stomach turns -- never has she been so close to someone so... broken. but reed is fearghal through and through, steeling herself as she presses against mama's legs, looking from the body to each wolf gathered. at mama's instruction the girl straightens, a clipped "yes, mama," given as she nods to maegi, moving to take up position and clutch the skin delicately between her teeth, ready to assist in moving.
It took time, but they were diligent and mindful of the body's ruination; they managed to slip it atop a large skin and then, working together, the body was transported away from the dangerous seaside. Time would tell if the creature would survive; surely someone in such a state would not live long, nor thrive? But the wolves of Undersea would try their hardest none-the-less.