Blackwater Islands this wine is too good for toast drinking, my dear

Indie had plenty of time to think nowadays, and many of her thoughts orbited around the raconteur, Donovan. It couldn’t be helped, that man was an enigma to her – one of the only wolves who could successfully shield his thoughts from her prying mind and leave the woman in the dark about his intentions… and still, she trusted him. Donovan’s obscurity did not make her uncomfortable, goodness no. Rather, she luxuriated in her relative unknowingness about the tutor who had raised her up and skillfully crafted her to be the vaudevillian that she was that day. Indie let the brute reveal himself to her as he saw fit – he was constantly surprising her by zigging when she expected him to zag, and she was often left breathless by his dizzying strategy and intellect. As such, the mottled raconteur had reappeared in her life, sought her out in these foreign wilds, only to disappear just as quickly… but still, the women had an inane sense of credence in Donovan. She knew he was safe [wherever he was], probably working on some long con and would eventually return to her – he always did.

The dark shewolf strode along the frigid shores, her feet lazily dragging in the edge of the waters. She moved jauntily, easily; her languid muscles pulled heavy on her bones, signaling a sense of divine [yet uncomfortable] relaxation. It was a day like any other and the simplicity of it was a bit stifling to the wily woman. Far too many of her days had been all-consuming nothingness, fading into one another. Indie would wake and she would hunt, then she would groom herself impeccably, teeth raking finely through her inky pelt and cleansing herself of any clinging impurity. Then she would sing for no one but herself, enjoying the company of her own voice and she would dance with no one but herself, enjoying the sensations of the earth beneath her feet. It was all good fun, but it would always end with Indie becoming bored and traipsing onward, continuing her adventure down the coast of their Blackwater Islands

Though the wolves upon the islands were few, they could often be found where land met the sea. Many of the Nereides congregated oceanside, which made complete sense – if Indie had an all-knowing, all-seeing presence readily available to her, wouldn’t she commune with it daily? hourly? Perhaps she would never leave the ocean’s providence, adopting the ethereal being as she would a tutor. It was a similar relationship that had grown between her and the all-knowing, all-seeing raconteur Donovan – but such a rapport had yet to manifest between her and "the mother." It bothered the vaudevillian, who spent countless hours practicing her swimming and language and singing the songs of the sirens, yet the spiritual enlightenment of Kalika and Akantha and even Whip still evaded her. But, she had to mix the mortar and lay the bricks before that part of her indoctrination would rush into her, Indie reasoned.

True to form, Kalika was departing from her position seaside and her path crossed with Indie’s own. Her attention was captured by Kalika’s call and almost immediately Indie recharted her course to greet her young pupil. Kalika was an interesting soul. At first, there was a stark aversion between her and the girl’s…lewd and uninhibited nature, but Kalika seemed to be doing something right so Indie managed to swallow her pride and gleaned what she could from the yearling. "Geia" she sang out towards the ivory woman, a wry grin dancing upon her lips. “How fares the pretty, new mother?” It was still funny to the veiled starlet how a girl who knew nothing of her first heat had since adopted a child… but Indie much preferred that such responsibilities fall to Kalika, rather than herself. No, that would not do at all!