Wolf RPG

Gentle. Lulling. The sea was pleased in the mid afternoon as Hemingway traipsed along the shoreline, relishing in the eager swell and recede of the waves. Contented breath was drawn from casually parted lips, tongue of salmon pink snaking from betwixt them to lick at the spray of saltwater as it came from the constant writhing form of the ocean. She was glorious, as always, the Kelpie found, drawn to it as a moth was drawn to a flame. Innisfree. They had been a sea-savvy family for many generations spanning further back then Hemingway could remember. He deigned to live near it once more, weary of traveling as he had grown. The gypsy life style was not one that Hemingway willingly favored, moving from place to place, calling none home and none within family. He had a family but the Soothsayer had foreseen that his future was not in staying a homebody. It was deigned elsewhere, demanding what nature did. Advancement. Genetic spread; but accumulating himself into a place that accepted his abilities as Soothsayer, his dreams was much easier spoken than done. Most met him with heavy skepticism. Others chased him away, afraid of his believed abilities. A happy medium, Hemingway was beginning to feel, did not exist.

Still, with Spring upon the lands his decision did not hold the same level of desperation that winter had pressed upon him so mercilessly. Soon, the herds would be returning in full and his decision would not weigh so heavily upon need. In stead, he could take his time. Weigh his options. Abrupt was his movement as Hemingway's alter in direction took him deeper into the salt water, desiring to feel it surge against him, to know it's power as it pushed against him, testing his strength. He had always been a strong swimmer and fisher, favoring the succulent delicacies of the sea when they had presented themselves to him and his siblings; thus did not tremble in fear from the ocean as he perhaps should have. Dangers lurked in every shadow of it's depths he had been told, yet how did that differ from land, he had always returned? The threads of the world existed in a constant state of chaos, of life and death. Whether he would foretell his demise or not was unknown to him, though he did not feel that today would be the day the spirits stole him from his corporeal body. Thus, he did not worry.

Instead he took joy in the sea, in the sun upon his back, intent on worrying about things such as packs and death at a later time.

The white fae had strayed from the secure borders of Ankyra Sound, for what reason she did not know. She let the sea guide her paws as she journeyed along the coastline, never going to far inland. She had been separated from the sea's salty embrace once, and she never wished for that to happen again.

The warmth of Spring had begun to slowly conquer the cold and snow, and with it it brought the birds back, and the small prey had slowly begun to crawl from the burrows they had inhabited in the frigid months. Phantom revealed in the new found warmth.

She dived smoothly into the waves, not noticing the male some distance from her. Her shining white pelt stood out like a beacon in the waves, and her strong legs brought her easily through the water. It was her element, the place she was most comfortable in.

Drawn so illustriously into his own swimming thoughts as he enjoyed the surge and recede of the ocean's waves around his svelte body as he dared to go further, he was not initially aware of his company. Her scent was cloaked by the salt brine that sprayed against his face, overwhelming his flared, leathery black nostrils until the sea was all that he could smell. Hemingway would have gone further still, fully submerged himself though this was met with trepidation. The waters were still cool as was the temperatures of the air, despite that Spring was upon these Wilds now. Shaggy moss brown and slate fur was curling where it dripped droplets of saltwater as the Soothsayer ventured back towards the shore line, ready to let the sunlight dry out his fur, now drenched in the salt of the sea. He had paced to the edge of the sea's reach and gave his coat a furious shake, left ear flicking back ever so slightly at the sloshing sound of another's body pushing through the water.

In a split moment Hemingway had become acutely aware of the other's presence even before violet eyes found her form — easily discernible — stark white against the warm tans and stormy green of the sea. Moments passed and the Innisfree was content with spending a few moments, in which he assumed his presence was unknown to her, assessing her. This did not last, however, and taking a dauntless, ghosting step forward his lips parted and he let out a soft chuff, carrying upon the distance so that it would reach her even over the cry of the gulls and the gentle roar of the sea.

Amidst the sound of sea and fowl there came a gentle chuff, soft but easily heard over the waves. Phantom twisted her head to examine the owner of the sound, another wolf, though from her vantage point she could not discern it's sex. No matter. She motioned for him to follow, and headed toward the sand. However much she loved the sea, it was no place to meet new people.

Soon her paws met sand, and she loped up the beach a little way, looking expectantly at the other. The water cascaded from her pelt, and a stray bit of seaweed was stuck to her side, though she made no move to brush it off.

Hemingway supposed that by nature he should have been suspicious of other wolves but he was not habitually a suspicious man. To claim that he trusted blindly would be to spin a lie, he was careful with whom he placed his trust in, but wolves were sociable creature and he had the urge, after not speaking with others in quite some time, traveling alone having wandered off from Wyeth some time ago. There had been four of them when they had departed, four Innisfree's and eventually like the four corners of the wind, they had split into their own paths. Hemingway did not worry so much about them, knowing that they were Innisfree and could certainly take care of themselves. They were a strong family and it was this resolute opinion that kept him from worrying for their safety. He worried for them but not insistently.

The pallid woman gestured for him to follow her, violet eyes catching the supple movement of her muzzle as it pointed in the direction in which she intended to head. Svelte body, with shaggy fur curling in the tepid air as it dripped, still, even despite the furious shake he had given in efforts of expelling excess water from it, moved in the direction she had motioned to, an eye kept upon her as she emerged from the sea's grasp, her own stark fur leaving a dripping trail where she walked. Unlike him, it appeared to Hemingway, his companion did not mind the saturated tendrils of her fur, a piece of seaweed clinging to her side, he noted, for it was hard to notice: green and brown where it clung to her otherwise flawless fur.

“Hello,” The Soothsayer greeted her casually, stopping when he had decided enough distance had been crossed between them, though it was a neutral distance. Enough of a distance that they could communicate comfortably with one another without being too invasive of personal space.