Since meeting Renoir all that Rowan could think of was Ellie's haunting message. Something in their blood was simply not right and the whispers of the witches and warlocks that carried her name promised something dark. There was a reason that they were so far away. The wolves that had come to French Quarter, the ones who had raised it up and made it into what she had been set to inherit - there was a reason. Rowan could not take herself to Donnelaith, not to the real and true home of her family. She could not survive the salt water, no matter her talents and her wit. 

Following that calling whisper - that she could do. And so she had. It was quite a journey, a trek she would someday pass to others and her experiences had only made her stronger. Rowan took a deep breath, scents strangely familiar and yet still unknown marked the pack Renoir had spoken of. The one who carried their once home as it's name. Rowan avoided it though - nervous, perhaps, over meeting these people and what that might mean. Her mother had been so determined to keep her away, yet....her mother was gone. The threat had to be too. Overhead a crow cried out as it flew leaving the destruction of the lands behind in hopes no doubt of something better. She couldn't imagine what that might mean for them. 

Just what had happened here to bring on such a plague?

The coast was by far the siren's favorite place to be, despite having lived in the berry forest for around a year. Her heart had always longed for the familiar sights of the waves. The waves she wished could take her away, away from this wasteland. She had traveled here to see wonders, yet all there was left was mud, sand and trees stripped of all their green. She didn't have to travel to a forest to know this, she knew full well what the dead insects on the ground were capable of. Well, not anymore of course. There was hope in the waterwitch's heart for the land though. She hoped, prayed, that the green would grow back in a few months and that the prey would return.

For now though, there was little to do than to roam the coast. It reminded her of home. No, not her own berry forest, her real home. Where she had been accused of witchcraft, her mother had been killed and her father had fled. It were not all gruesome memories though, for she could recall the better days. This almost always included the sea. She breathed in the salty smell of the water, heard the water lap at the shore, claiming many of the locust bodies. But then came a not so familiar scent. Wolf. Huh, it's been a while since she had seen anyone. But, with food scarce, there was always the chance the other had gone crazy, feral. Plus, it smelled like a female, and those didn't always approve of her "fashion style".

And so, the siren ignored the scent, passing through without a word, unless the one that claimed this part of the coast came to her.

For the woman there was peace, even amidst the destruction and chaos. This was not her doing after all, and the creatures that had destroyed these lands were not her minions. She'd heard rumors of wolves who could do that - who could take control of the livestock around them. It was astounding to consider, although she did not for a moment believe in it. Without evidence, Rowan could not admit such a fanciful event as reality. 

Rowan caught the scent of someone nearby and turned her head slowly, giving plenty of room for any sort of interaction. The female was similarly colored although the red splotch at her face only boasted a feral tone that Rowan was not interested in dealing with. It was clear that the other creature was on a mission, so determined to not interact and so Rowan offered a mere dip of the head and nothing more. If the lands were all dead she could not waste her energy on pleasantries that were not to be returned. 

What she saw in the distance only made the memories of her former home slap her in the face harder. A white wolf, just like her, just like her whole family. just like the bullies. No, no, she mustn't think like that. Home was so far away, there was no way that this creature was the same. Looks betrayed, a lot, just like her own one. 

She crossed paths with the woman and from far away the nod was noticeable. See? Nothing wrong here. Just two strangers passing by at the same time with no will to greet with words. The siren's blue eyes were dull as she nodded, not at all intrigued by the other coast ghost. She passed her, walking further along the coast with her eyes on the waves. How beautiful they were, the waves, so full of life and movement. Sometimes Ondine wondered if the fish knew they were basically swimming in a paradise. Her moment of quietness and joy didn't last for long though, for only minutes after passing the seemingly nice girl, the scent of pack hit her in the face. Fuck... She whispered under her breath. She didn't want to deal with pack wolves, not in such desperate times. And so, she turned, preparing for the journey back. She could see mountains on her left though, which kind of intrigued her, but first she needed to know where the other was going.

Her pace quickened as the white pelt of the stranger came into sight again. Hey, you, wait up! She called out, panting. Being alone on the coast was okay, but two wolves could better survive. Besides, the chances of Ondine going past that pack she scented earlier was little to none.

Paws slapping the white moist sand, the siren ran to the female with the same colorless coat. She stopped a respectable distance away, not wanting to seem rude or anything. A berry juice stained face met the other's glare, and since they were on neutral grounds, there was no way nor time to believe it was a show of dominance. Ondine panted lightly, but her breathing soon became rhythmic again, as rhythmic as the waves lapping at the shore like a puppy does with his siblings.

No one's friendly when they're hungry. She breathed out. Her words were true. Most wolves just weren't themselves anymore when hunger did strike. I was actually just wondering where you're going. She explained. Small talk was the best way to kill time, and she had a lot of it; both small talk and time.