at the edge of the cliffs, she sat and watched as a storm rolled in to the coast. snowflakes danced and swirled over sluggish, powerful waves— trailing closer and closer to shore. she remained still as wind buffeted the cliffs, her thick winter undercoat protecting her from all but the strongest blasts of sea breeze. this was meant to be a comfort, to hear the whispers of the sea and hold them close to her heart, but the hollowness in her chest only seemed to expand with each crash of waves against the rocks.
The Priest stalked the coastline. Looking for a hint of his lost.
A hint of Nyra. That pale witchling that had left. She was dead. Should be dead.
He doubted he'd find her body, but here he was. Looking for it anyway.
He pursed his lips. Fenrir was in mourning, really, and didn't want to admit it. Instead, he buried his guilt and loss deep within and clung to the hope of finding the lost wench.
He hummed as he walked, head high. Mangled neck on display. He spied a form, almost teetering on the cliff edge in his opinion. A strong gust in an unexpected direction would have her tumbling and splattering far, far below.
He let out a soft sigh. It wasn't any of his ilk. He shouldn't approach. Shouldn't talk to her. Let her be content in her silence.
Indecision warred with him as wandering paws brought his wandering frame to a halt. Wandering mind wondering if she was worth the Priest's time.
her ears twitched, a subtle movement to shake off snow that otherwise continued to collect on her guardhairs, slowly enclosing her in a frigid embrace. occasionally, gusts of salt-scented wind reclaimed the flakes— blowing harsh against her body. aeglaeca sat, firm. she did not fear the cliffside as others might, her footing grown sure on such terrain from the time she had been whelped. but this was a strange land, and she didn't trust the wolves within it. she would not fall, but she could be pushed if caught unaware.
over the howling wind and the dampening effect of snow, she almost missed the stranger. a sound, or perhaps a scent carried in the breeze, alerted her. she turned her head, first, and seeing the figure— put some distance between herself and the world's edge as she moved to face him.
and now, the same indecision plagued aeglaeca. was this worth her time? another man? no, she thought, weary of the idea. without a word, she began to retreat further inland. but she was not unreasonable; if he wished for her attention, she would give it. if only briefly.
Sorry I took so long!
She noticed. Turned to look at him. to watch him as he paused to think. The howling wind billowing through his thoughts. Scattering them like papers in the wind.
She moved from the edge.
Wise, calculating.
Fenrir's tail rose like a banner, tail flicking side to side as his fur bristled.
She continued to move inland, away from the cliff. To ignore him pointedly for ruining her moment of solitude in the wind and waves.
At least he gave her the benefit of thought. She seemed to have taken one look at him, at his greying fur and haggard, scared face to turn and leave.
This angered him unreasonably. The Priest wanted attention. Wanted to be noticed in this desolate waste.
He moved after her, head dipping but tail sill high.
Notice me.
never apologize for that!
she continued for a time, until she realized the echo of her paw-steps was not true; they were steps following her own. aeglaeca had anticipated a voice, a stronger alert, and that there had been none put her on guard. she spun, flashing teeth in warning. in this weather, silence was sinister. and males could never be trusted, not even on the sunniest and clearest of days.
you need something?
she called to him. she was suspicious, as she always was. her words carried an unspoken warning. but there was no malice in them.