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the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - ThE nArRaToR - May 28, 2017
Takes place on the afternoon of May 29, 2017.
This thread is MANDATORY for characters wishing to join Undersea.
This is an active participation thread that takes place on Wheeling Gull Isle. If your character is not on Wheeling Gull Isle, you must make a roll call post with a snippet of where your character is and what your character is up to. No rounds. No posting order. Welcome home! ♥
@Adeline @Anatha @Aria @Axolotl @Calypso @Cattail @Constantine @Faeryn @Ixchel @Kalika @King @Komodo @Morrighan @Nova @Tael
This thread is MANDATORY for characters wishing to join Undersea.
This is an active participation thread that takes place on Wheeling Gull Isle. If your character is not on Wheeling Gull Isle, you must make a roll call post with a snippet of where your character is and what your character is up to. No rounds. No posting order. Welcome home! ♥
@Adeline @Anatha @Aria @Axolotl @Calypso @Cattail @Constantine @Faeryn @Ixchel @Kalika @King @Komodo @Morrighan @Nova @Tael
The light of the sun was drowned out by a sea of cumulonimbus clouds so heavy they cracked open and assaulted the coastal territories with a deluge of hard-edged rain, turning the world a bleak shade of charcoal. The horizon line was all but blurred out, and it was difficult to tell where the ocean ended and the sky began. Only when shafts of distant lightning illuminated the faraway northern sea was it possible to see the white-lipped crests of high arching waves.
Greedy waves sucked and nibbled at the cliffs and crags that dotted the coast, growing particularly violent toward the eastern seaboard, scattering seabirds and chewing up sand. Snaking rip currents whipped wildly beneath the vicious churn of the shallows, rendering the water unsafe for even the most experienced seafarers, and the land bridge that connected the Wheeling Gull Isle was all but useless beneath the still rising tide. Any wolves that had taken residence there were essentially stranded.
Greedy waves sucked and nibbled at the cliffs and crags that dotted the coast, growing particularly violent toward the eastern seaboard, scattering seabirds and chewing up sand. Snaking rip currents whipped wildly beneath the vicious churn of the shallows, rendering the water unsafe for even the most experienced seafarers, and the land bridge that connected the Wheeling Gull Isle was all but useless beneath the still rising tide. Any wolves that had taken residence there were essentially stranded.
posted by coelacanth.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Cattail - May 28, 2017
[table width=80%][tr][td]Cattail, as she had called herself, had successfully kept her small yet dangerous head wound clean - giving the healing tissue herbs she somehow recognized to make sure it would heal essentially well. But, even though her physical wounds were nearly healed, the mental shock of the stranding had permanently wiped most if not all of her memory. Her name, identity and past relations were all lost; she could not recall a single moment from before waking up at the island over which a thunderstorm raged. All she remembered were her herbs and how to use them, but it wasn't nearly enough for the terrified woman. How had she stranded upon the isle with no one and no trace of her former life? Was anyone seeking for her? Were there other stranded upon the thundering island?
Cattail had set up camp in the forest, keeping to herself as the storm kept raging on. Her pearly pelt was muddied and her mismatched eyes did not carry the kindness Ondine's had always possessed. Ondine was no more - all that remained was a craze of a woman, one who was probably only good for healing until she had recovered mentally from the shock - even though her memories would never return.[/tr][/td][/table]
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Addie - May 28, 2017
She closes her eyes.
Greeneyes. She thinks it is her heart, not seawater, hitching a breath in her throat. Swimming was never something she’d really practiced.
Her eyes open the moment a crack of lightning breaks the sky into pieces. Panic surges into her body, sending her body clumsily to all four feet. It is but a fleeting moment as her legs buckle and send her back to the wet sand, rain thundering down around her. She can’t get enough breath back into her lungs and all the moving causes her to heave forward, coughing up enough water to last someone for days. Ragged breaths causes her chest to unevenly rise and fall in quick succession. A few more times she coughs up more water, unsure where it’s all even coming from at this point.
Looking down the coast shows nothing but washed up seaweed and driftwood and other debris left over from an angry ocean. The wind whips back and forth and she tries with whatever energy hasn’t been sucked out of her to get onto all four feet once more. She is unsteady and the weather threatens to topple back over, but she forces her paws to move one at a time to get her away from the water’s edge and further into the island. The girl glances over her shoulder to see the waves rip back and forth, beating against the shore and leaving the damage behind for another to come along. She can’t see very far in the thick of the storm, unaware she’s even on an island.
She refocuses her attention back and continues on, searching for refuge. The pressure on her chest increases with each step and she struggles for a full breath, causing her to stumble a time or two. She eventually finds her way across the tune and fumbling through the underbrush that entangles her limbs as she goes.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Faeryn - May 29, 2017
Sorry for bad post lmao
It was dark when she woke. The storm was still raging, and hard drops of water splattered onto her pelt as she lay on the sand. With a groan, she attempted to lift her head. However, she was not strong enough and simply dropped her head back onto the ground. Her eyes flickered open after several attempts, and her vision was blurred.
Cold, dark, loud, wet.
That was all she remembered about what happened. Where was she? Faeryn just lay there for a while, listening to the storm for a good few minutes. Soon, though, she grew much too cold, and dragged herself slowly forward, eventually reaching the shelter of a few trees. Was she safe here? Was anyone else here? Was anyone else here?
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Anatha - May 29, 2017
the girl does not know exactly when she had pitched over the cliffs, but she knows it has been an eternity since her bedraggled form hit the waves. an eternity since her wildly flailing limbs have touched anything solid, until there had been something other than the brine invading her every sense. her throat and lungs moved labourously to keep alive her ailing form, burning with exertion and the ocean that seemed to soak into her. for so long had she been tempted by the beauty that was the sea, and now that it had her in its grasp, it seemed to delight in pummeling her tiny form with all its power.
her paw touches something solid. so alien is the sensation that it jolts the girl, bringing a final bout of energy. she flails, moved out of the listless drifting punctuated only by her efforts to keep her muzzle above water. again does her paw touch solid, and then another, and then, by some form of miracle, her battered form is hurled upon the coast by the sea, as if out of spite. with land comes the end to the constant struggle against the waves, and, sensing this, her form ceases movement, and the girl succumbs to pure exhaustion as she lays pitifully in the might of the storm.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Komodo - May 29, 2017
lol the inspiration for this post was that one scene from forest gump where he keeps running back into the battlefield to save his friends
The storm raged on, reaching its peak and undulated at such force for hours upon hours; at first Komodo had retreated to the sanctity of the trees, whose tough trunks were intended to bear the gale force winds that the sea could make The winds whipped up the water into whitecaps, which thrashed angrily against the battered sands - the undertow would suck the water far out but the pressures of the storm cell would rebel thrust it back with such force that it rocked the earths itself. The trees themselves bent and whipped about; the jagged silhouettes of their branches bright against the stormy skies whenever lightening scorched across it, lighting the tumultuous milieu for a moment before it all went dark again.
It was not long before such power drew the earthstalker from the forested inlands so that he could view the fury of god in all its triumph — the seas and the squall, the wind and the debris — with the stringing rain in his eyes and the roaring gales in his ears, Komodo found that many of his faculties had been deadened; but the brute steeled his body and forged his way through the deluge, the gusts of winds strong enough to make him lose his grip upon the earth and stumble about once or twice. The punished raged on around him and he welcomed such a punishment with the entirety of his being; he leapt at the wind, snapped his ivories at the air and let out strange barks that were easily drowned out but the squalling roar, and when the man had tired, he turned to back to fade, once more, into the trees. The stormed raged between the trees, but the force was, for the most part, deflected by the timbers and infinitely safer than the exposure the beach provided.
But he was not alone.
There was a figure in the distance — and though Komodo squinted his eyes against the rain and grit his teeth, he could only see that it moved slowly. It surely did not look well and Komodo redirected his trajectory with several heavily-placed, sure-footed steps and within moments it became clear that the thing was another wolf, utterly sodden and stumbling ineffectively in the winds. The situation did not call for formalities and without much introduction or ceremony, the hulking brute pulled up beside the other’s body and braced himself against the its broken form. Any scent indicator that this was @Adeline was all but obliterated in the briny, pervasive wetness. ”I’ve got yah,” he spoke to the wolf, his words felt as a rumble in his chest more than they were heard. The two only needed to make it a little bit father inland, and harborage would be theirs.
But Komodo had turned his gaze just at the moment that another was spat from the waves; a small, dark, unmoving mass deposited upon the eroded, blasting sands. Responding immediately, Komodo stiffened for a moment and then spoke directly into the other’s ear. ”Go inland or come with me — you go no where else, y‘hear? His voice was nothing short of a yell, struggling to be head over the maelstrom. If the wolf went either way, it would be fine — but should it get misdirected in the fracas, survival couldn't be promised.
Without leaving much time for the other to protest, the Shaman lunged away and back towards the place that water met land. Without knowing what or who he was grabbing (@Anatha), the angkkuq’s jaws found a soft pelt and clamped down. He began tugging the weight of the thing backwards, jerking and yanking and fighting against the wind — and hoping that the thing he wrested from the sea was in the sweet throes of unconsciousness, not privy to the war that waged on around it.
It was not long before such power drew the earthstalker from the forested inlands so that he could view the fury of god in all its triumph — the seas and the squall, the wind and the debris — with the stringing rain in his eyes and the roaring gales in his ears, Komodo found that many of his faculties had been deadened; but the brute steeled his body and forged his way through the deluge, the gusts of winds strong enough to make him lose his grip upon the earth and stumble about once or twice. The punished raged on around him and he welcomed such a punishment with the entirety of his being; he leapt at the wind, snapped his ivories at the air and let out strange barks that were easily drowned out but the squalling roar, and when the man had tired, he turned to back to fade, once more, into the trees. The stormed raged between the trees, but the force was, for the most part, deflected by the timbers and infinitely safer than the exposure the beach provided.
But he was not alone.
There was a figure in the distance — and though Komodo squinted his eyes against the rain and grit his teeth, he could only see that it moved slowly. It surely did not look well and Komodo redirected his trajectory with several heavily-placed, sure-footed steps and within moments it became clear that the thing was another wolf, utterly sodden and stumbling ineffectively in the winds. The situation did not call for formalities and without much introduction or ceremony, the hulking brute pulled up beside the other’s body and braced himself against the its broken form. Any scent indicator that this was @Adeline was all but obliterated in the briny, pervasive wetness. ”I’ve got yah,” he spoke to the wolf, his words felt as a rumble in his chest more than they were heard. The two only needed to make it a little bit father inland, and harborage would be theirs.
But Komodo had turned his gaze just at the moment that another was spat from the waves; a small, dark, unmoving mass deposited upon the eroded, blasting sands. Responding immediately, Komodo stiffened for a moment and then spoke directly into the other’s ear. ”Go inland or come with me — you go no where else, y‘hear? His voice was nothing short of a yell, struggling to be head over the maelstrom. If the wolf went either way, it would be fine — but should it get misdirected in the fracas, survival couldn't be promised.
Without leaving much time for the other to protest, the Shaman lunged away and back towards the place that water met land. Without knowing what or who he was grabbing (@Anatha), the angkkuq’s jaws found a soft pelt and clamped down. He began tugging the weight of the thing backwards, jerking and yanking and fighting against the wind — and hoping that the thing he wrested from the sea was in the sweet throes of unconsciousness, not privy to the war that waged on around it.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Constantine - May 30, 2017
He had washed up to the shore – the salt clung to his fur, lightening the midnight strands. The rain was torrential, and it woke him from his sea-induced slumber. His eyes were blurry as they blinked open – the bright orange lanterns unfocused as he saw nothing but dark sand and angry grey clouds. He heard a male voice – someone yelling – and began to move his body, withholding a groan as he realized how stiff his muscles were. The sea had carried him somewhere – to hell, perhaps, for it had been death he had sought.
He pushed himself up – his body heavy – and he stumbled now. Darkness flashed before him as the blood ran from his brain, and Constantine almost fainted. He lowered his muzzle, pressing it to the sand, and as he inhaled the sharp scent of the sea, it was his sister’s eyes that haunted him for a moment – the salt and sea had become her. And now she was gone.
The memory stirred his heart, and it was then he turned, retching the sea water he had swallowed, and shuddering as his thoughts clouded with his failure to keep his family safe. The others, for now, were ignored.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Addie - May 30, 2017
She does not notice him until he sidles up next to her. She tenses, slowly turning her head to see who has come. Several seconds pass as her brows burrow between her eyes, trying to understand how or why he’s standing so close to her. Fire boils in her chest but she can’t do much about it and she eventually caves, feeling her legs slacken in order to lean into him. His scent is not the same, covered by salt and brine and water, but it is comfort enough to keep her standing a little while longer. The wind blows to and fro, shaking the world around her and she trembles, shaking her head a little as she now fights the storm with her companion.
When Grayday turns from her, she twists her head to see what has grabbed his attention. The instructions fall on deaf ears, finding it easy to ignore him as she swims in some form of semi-consciousness. Her stomach tightens to realize it is a young wolf and the only one that comes to mind to fill in the gaps is Dawn and she sucks in a breath, opening her mouth to bellow out a cry for the girl. She stumbles around to face the way the brute has gone (and returning from the water) as she rushes up to check on the two of them to make sure they are in one piece and temporarily ignores the pain her body is trying to alert her to.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Axolotl - May 31, 2017
[table width=85%][tr][td]
Atlan rages. The storm They have summoned blocks out the horizon engulfing everything in Their fury. The leviathan of the seas does not bother to try to re-find the sandbar he has crossed to get here before the storm has risen because he knows it will not be there and if, by some miracle, it is Atlan would sweep away any who dared to try to reach the mainland into Their depths, claiming the lives for Their own. The shaman has been unsettled for day previous to his deity’s wrath. He lingers on the shore, bracing sturdy shoulders against the fierce wind that whips viciously through his fur, pressing against him the way the sea presses against rock and land: unyielding. Atlan lashes out at Their warrior shaman but Axolotl weathers it. This is not his first ride with Atlan’s unprecedented ire and the leviathan has no illusions that it will be his last. Last he was aware he was alone on the Isle but his focus has been solely on Atlan and he has neglected any whom have possibly joined him prior to the hurricane. He alone cannot placate the God and accepts that all that can be done is wait it out.
He scours the shore for any that might have washed up now knowing that his job is far from done. Atlan is in full rage but that does not mean that Axolotl can simply cower under shelter until Their mood has ran it’s course. “Atlan,” Axolotl calls to the sea, voice drowning in the violent crash of waves. The Sea roars in response, tossing a violent wave upon the shore that crashes around Axolotl, threatening to knock him off balance. Leave me be!, the waves seems to scream at the shaman and there is a defiant glint to the leviathan’s glacial gaze he concedes to the mighty deity’s wishes. There is little chance of scenting any other wolves, any survivors. He sees their silhouettes over the pounding of the rain. He recognizes Komodo the closer he gets. “Earthstalker,” Now is not time for a reunion, however. “It is not safe to linger here. There is elevated ground and fresh water further inland. It offers some shelter to the rains. It is as ...safe a place as any.” Axolotl's voice rises above the scream of the Sea, against the violent crash of the waves to be heard. The Atlanian is not of the medicinal sort of shaman but the Sea is his domain and he knows enough to be of aid. The longer they lingered upon the beach the higher the chances are that some would be swept back out to sea never to resurface. Atlan rarely offered mercy a second time. While elevated land of the Isle does not fully promise safety from the hurricane it is the only chance they have and it the best they will get; beggars could not afford to be choosers.
He takes note of @Constantine as the male retches up saltwater and makes his way towards the other. “Can you walk?” Axolotl inquires of him, able bodied and fortunate enough to have been on the Isle before the hurricane took shape. It is a small fortune and it works to his advantage now as he strives to help the survivors that Atlan has spit ashore in any way that he can.
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He scours the shore for any that might have washed up now knowing that his job is far from done. Atlan is in full rage but that does not mean that Axolotl can simply cower under shelter until Their mood has ran it’s course. “Atlan,” Axolotl calls to the sea, voice drowning in the violent crash of waves. The Sea roars in response, tossing a violent wave upon the shore that crashes around Axolotl, threatening to knock him off balance. Leave me be!, the waves seems to scream at the shaman and there is a defiant glint to the leviathan’s glacial gaze he concedes to the mighty deity’s wishes. There is little chance of scenting any other wolves, any survivors. He sees their silhouettes over the pounding of the rain. He recognizes Komodo the closer he gets. “Earthstalker,” Now is not time for a reunion, however. “It is not safe to linger here. There is elevated ground and fresh water further inland. It offers some shelter to the rains. It is as ...safe a place as any.” Axolotl's voice rises above the scream of the Sea, against the violent crash of the waves to be heard. The Atlanian is not of the medicinal sort of shaman but the Sea is his domain and he knows enough to be of aid. The longer they lingered upon the beach the higher the chances are that some would be swept back out to sea never to resurface. Atlan rarely offered mercy a second time. While elevated land of the Isle does not fully promise safety from the hurricane it is the only chance they have and it the best they will get; beggars could not afford to be choosers.
He takes note of @Constantine as the male retches up saltwater and makes his way towards the other. “Can you walk?” Axolotl inquires of him, able bodied and fortunate enough to have been on the Isle before the hurricane took shape. It is a small fortune and it works to his advantage now as he strives to help the survivors that Atlan has spit ashore in any way that he can.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Aria - May 31, 2017
aria hides. she has met only one wolf upon this island and their interaction went smooth enough, but the storm is anger now than ever. she does not want to be near it, does not want to be pulled into the tide. quietly, she huddles inside a small cavern that she found. there was another creature inside, but she killed it, deciding now that she needed it... probably, anyway.
she wants to find the man she'd mad acquaintances with, but is afraid of the outside. she wants to make sure he's safe but, she can only assume he can handle himself. she remains in the cavern and thinks of other things-- happier things. she thinks of her mother and her sisters and, eventually, even with the pounding storm outside, she drifts asleep. she dreams of a memory, a conversation with a man named james. he is gray and they have a lovely conversation on the beach. somehow, aria finds him eerily realistic... but when she wakes, she will feel that it's only a dream.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Anatha - May 31, 2017
pebbles and debris dig into her side, tearing her pelt and skin as she is dragged along the shore. she is unaware of this as much as she is unaware of the male that tugs her back, back from the sea and the storm. blood streaks the rocks she passes over, yet in the darkness and the rain, they are easily missed, almost invisible. she was an unmoving lump, a deadweight, and would easily pass as dead were it not for the slightest movement of her chest. conscience would come later, and with it pain and fear, but for now, it is unwelcome. she is not aware of the woman, not aware of anything, and won't be for a while yet.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Komodo - June 01, 2017
The girl was sodden, heavy and limpid — not an easy load to haul [especially not when also combatting the push-pull of the elements] but the girl was small and he was large, so with haste the pair made their jaunty and jerky retreat backwards, towards the treed barrier. Adrenaline fueled him, made him stronger; but the task was made easier when another braced him and provided an assist. He could only assume it was the same, feeble wolf from moments before, come to join him in his efforts. The wolf seemed to have found an upwelling of strength, just as the world seemed to have found new strength in the midst of the hurricane. The storm raged, misunderstood and feared as it was, and Komodo realized why he had been attracted to its intensity rather than repelled.
The storm and he had more in common than he previously understood. The ceremony had been attempted; yet failed — and in that way, Komodo understood that the storm was always meant to happen. The man was meant to learn something from it.
There was activity not only in the violent winds that gripped them and the sea that thrashed, but activity was ran hot in the bodies of the living things, too. Now that the brute had been made privy to the life that struggled and labored against the earth’s fury, he found he could not look away. Another voice was added to the chorus of steam engines and angry sea monsters that threatened to drown out the other man’s low voice — but what the voice stated made Komodo loosen his hold on the wastrel’s thick scruff, eventually abandoning his grip entirely, and cut a scrutinizing gaze towards the speaker.
“Earthstalker,”
It was a moniker not known to many. Komodo had given it to himself, as was customary in his tribe when he had come of age. It was the product of a vision quest; drug induced, yes, but a spiritual journey all the same. He did not speak of these things to others often.
The coincidence that Ixchel had used his shamanic name just day before was not to be ignored. His recent encounter with Ixchel allowed his mind to summon memory of Axolotl quite easily, as the siblings had never had been far from each other, not even during all his months with Riptide’s clan. Though Komodo was indeed eager for a reunion as well, he was appreciate of Axolotl’s terse and decisive mien in this matter. Axolotl had grown and matured since Komodo’s departure — it was easy to notice, even in those few fleeting moments.
Komodo gave a curt nod, looking inland — but he could see nothing. Inland was surely safer than the tumultuous coast, and the promise of elevation and fresh water was tempting. But it was not just these four upon the island, no; somehow the angakkuq, amidst the turmoil that slammed him body and soul, knew there were others upon this island. Perhaps they were in danger, too. The shaman would not leave them, lest they perish at the hands of the creeping storm surge. He was a hard man, but a healer first and foremost and he would not see capable bodies felled in the name of nature’s wrath. They could prove to be useful in the tribulations to come.
The storm surge moved inland, eating at the beach and eroding away viable land, and Komodo knew they impromptu team would need to work fast. ”Take them,” he corroborated, giving instruction in the very same breath. ”I will look for others.” When the other darted away to tend to yet another body washed up on the shore, Komodo resumed his shared responsibility to bring the small one the arboreal aegis. Then he would leave them, return to the beach, and watch for others with hawklike attention.
The storm and he had more in common than he previously understood. The ceremony had been attempted; yet failed — and in that way, Komodo understood that the storm was always meant to happen. The man was meant to learn something from it.
There was activity not only in the violent winds that gripped them and the sea that thrashed, but activity was ran hot in the bodies of the living things, too. Now that the brute had been made privy to the life that struggled and labored against the earth’s fury, he found he could not look away. Another voice was added to the chorus of steam engines and angry sea monsters that threatened to drown out the other man’s low voice — but what the voice stated made Komodo loosen his hold on the wastrel’s thick scruff, eventually abandoning his grip entirely, and cut a scrutinizing gaze towards the speaker.
“Earthstalker,”
It was a moniker not known to many. Komodo had given it to himself, as was customary in his tribe when he had come of age. It was the product of a vision quest; drug induced, yes, but a spiritual journey all the same. He did not speak of these things to others often.
The coincidence that Ixchel had used his shamanic name just day before was not to be ignored. His recent encounter with Ixchel allowed his mind to summon memory of Axolotl quite easily, as the siblings had never had been far from each other, not even during all his months with Riptide’s clan. Though Komodo was indeed eager for a reunion as well, he was appreciate of Axolotl’s terse and decisive mien in this matter. Axolotl had grown and matured since Komodo’s departure — it was easy to notice, even in those few fleeting moments.
Komodo gave a curt nod, looking inland — but he could see nothing. Inland was surely safer than the tumultuous coast, and the promise of elevation and fresh water was tempting. But it was not just these four upon the island, no; somehow the angakkuq, amidst the turmoil that slammed him body and soul, knew there were others upon this island. Perhaps they were in danger, too. The shaman would not leave them, lest they perish at the hands of the creeping storm surge. He was a hard man, but a healer first and foremost and he would not see capable bodies felled in the name of nature’s wrath. They could prove to be useful in the tribulations to come.
The storm surge moved inland, eating at the beach and eroding away viable land, and Komodo knew they impromptu team would need to work fast. ”Take them,” he corroborated, giving instruction in the very same breath. ”I will look for others.” When the other darted away to tend to yet another body washed up on the shore, Komodo resumed his shared responsibility to bring the small one the arboreal aegis. Then he would leave them, return to the beach, and watch for others with hawklike attention.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - RIP Hemitheia - June 01, 2017
The storm came and with it came the others. They washed up one by one, and there was little she could do but sit back and wait. Her own confusion had abated - for her arrival was before the storm - but to Parthenos, the island had always been her home. She had woken here days ago with none to keep her company. The gash on her head had since crusted over, but the answers never came. The girl was left to stumble and find shelter on her own; but the same would not be said for these unfortunate souls. She would help them. She would guide them - at least a little, with whatever experience she had.
The silver girl steals across the sand as she spots a lump upon it; through the pelting rain she sweeps forth, claws clattering upon stone. She moves as if she has done this all her life; but to be truthful, Themiscrya is not so different from this strange place. Though her mind has forgotten its own origins, the body remembers the many things learned upon the shore - and so Parthenos finds her way to the lump and inspects it for life. Then, the next. And the one after that. They are alive, but she cannot do much until they wake - so she slips along and checks each of them as quickly as she can.
A few have roused. Some are speaking, and to those strangers she merely glances; they speak in ways she does not know, using words she cannot form with her own tongue. Unsure of them, she watches from a distance as a dark boy (Constantine) is helped by a more lucid wolf (Axolotl); another giving orders before returning to the sand (Komodo). Parthenos watches all of this unfold and then, without prompting, moves to follow after the stranger as they return to the beach. She can be of help whether she understands the speech or not - their body moves with purpose, and surely two is better than one.
Parthenos makes a noise to alert the stranger, a boof, but it is hard to hear through the sussuration of the rain. So she falls in to step behind them and keeps her posture neutral - hoping at least that will convey a positive message - but as they reach the sand Parthenos breaks away, eager to investigate others, to find out if any more lives can be saved. She does not want to be alone. Cannot fathom it any longer. Through this act, perhaps she can find peace.
The silver girl steals across the sand as she spots a lump upon it; through the pelting rain she sweeps forth, claws clattering upon stone. She moves as if she has done this all her life; but to be truthful, Themiscrya is not so different from this strange place. Though her mind has forgotten its own origins, the body remembers the many things learned upon the shore - and so Parthenos finds her way to the lump and inspects it for life. Then, the next. And the one after that. They are alive, but she cannot do much until they wake - so she slips along and checks each of them as quickly as she can.
A few have roused. Some are speaking, and to those strangers she merely glances; they speak in ways she does not know, using words she cannot form with her own tongue. Unsure of them, she watches from a distance as a dark boy (Constantine) is helped by a more lucid wolf (Axolotl); another giving orders before returning to the sand (Komodo). Parthenos watches all of this unfold and then, without prompting, moves to follow after the stranger as they return to the beach. She can be of help whether she understands the speech or not - their body moves with purpose, and surely two is better than one.
Parthenos makes a noise to alert the stranger, a boof, but it is hard to hear through the sussuration of the rain. So she falls in to step behind them and keeps her posture neutral - hoping at least that will convey a positive message - but as they reach the sand Parthenos breaks away, eager to investigate others, to find out if any more lives can be saved. She does not want to be alone. Cannot fathom it any longer. Through this act, perhaps she can find peace.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Constantine - June 02, 2017
He reeled for a moment – wondering if the burn in his throat from the salt he had swallowed was an indication that death had not yet come from him – but the winds raged, and the world was unfamiliar to him. Blinking, he glanced up, his gaze blurry for the moment as he studied the other who now came to his side. This could not be hell – could it? In what hell did another care for ones well being?
“Yes,” he rumbled, his voice lifting to be heard over the winds, feeling a new surge of determination shift over him. He had not succumbed to death – surely, the higher powers had other ideas for him, as did the Mother. He lifted his head then, straightening himself, though he swayed lightly as another bout of nausea overtook him. With a nod to his current comrade, Constantine scanned the beach side now, his eyes narrowing against the storm.
Another was drug from the waters – her slender form limp, as the tawny male aided her. Another pale creature tried to gain their attention – for a flash of a moment, the light of her fur reminded him painfully of Aria – but he quickly realized it could not be the siren he had left behind – she was likely in the warm embrace of Floki upon the mountain top.. safe from harm. Safe from him.
With a nod to the wolf who had come to him (Axolotl), he began to lope in the direction of the other pale she-wolf (Hemithea), his muzzle tilting back to him, though his voice lifting in hopes of being heard by both – “We should not be here.”
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Axolotl - June 03, 2017
Axolotl watches as the darker male stirs, the leviathan’s ears cup forth to pick up voice carries over the scream of the storm to reach him. Yes. He remains close as the chocolate colored male sways, ready to offer physical support if needed but the stranger regains his equilibrium. Axolotl takes a step back to give him space. “We go inland where there is elevation and fresh water,” to hopefully protect them from the rising tide and sustain them until it passes though Axolotl does not point this out currently.
A nod is given to Komodo as the male tells him to take the survivors inland. There is little that might offer adequate shelter against the raging fury of Atlan but what he has found will be enough if only because it has to be. Axolotl wants to argue for a moment, because he is Atlanian and if any one should remain on the beach and scour it for further survivors it should be he who is most intimate with Atman’s moods. He cannot placate Them but he can read the deity and knows when he pushes boundaries. He refrains from pointing this out if only because he is more familiar with the Isle and thus it makes more sense for him to lead the survivors to relative safety. A pale figure appears whom does not look like she was swept in by Atlan’s fury and joins the group. Axolotl returns her nod before he turns his attention to those he is charged with.
“Stay close to each other, stay close to me. We’ll take it slow but we need to reach higher elevation as quick as we can. I’ve found fresh water and shelter further inland. We will weather out the storm there.” Their choices are null and void. If they seek to survive it must be together. The alternative is more grim than the leviathan cares to admit and he thinks that he does not need to capitalize upon it. Surely they understand the stakes. With his words spoken he turns from the group, from Atlan’s wrath and leads the way to the safer ground of the Isle away from the beach and the Sea that which threatens to devour it.
A nod is given to Komodo as the male tells him to take the survivors inland. There is little that might offer adequate shelter against the raging fury of Atlan but what he has found will be enough if only because it has to be. Axolotl wants to argue for a moment, because he is Atlanian and if any one should remain on the beach and scour it for further survivors it should be he who is most intimate with Atman’s moods. He cannot placate Them but he can read the deity and knows when he pushes boundaries. He refrains from pointing this out if only because he is more familiar with the Isle and thus it makes more sense for him to lead the survivors to relative safety. A pale figure appears whom does not look like she was swept in by Atlan’s fury and joins the group. Axolotl returns her nod before he turns his attention to those he is charged with.
“Stay close to each other, stay close to me. We’ll take it slow but we need to reach higher elevation as quick as we can. I’ve found fresh water and shelter further inland. We will weather out the storm there.” Their choices are null and void. If they seek to survive it must be together. The alternative is more grim than the leviathan cares to admit and he thinks that he does not need to capitalize upon it. Surely they understand the stakes. With his words spoken he turns from the group, from Atlan’s wrath and leads the way to the safer ground of the Isle away from the beach and the Sea that which threatens to devour it.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Ixchel - June 03, 2017
Tagging for reference(s) and also to alert to everyone that she's a-howlin' for attention! :3
Ixchel had never been a religious wolf. It was part of the reason she'd left her homestead to begin with. But young, dutiful @Axolotl had never let her forget. She had expected him to forget with time, or otherwise stop praising Atlan, but he never had. And his older sister admired him for it, despite feeling largely detached from shamanism herself. She could see its worth, she supposed. Yet respect wasn't enough to make her worship. Not when she believed far more in her own senses, claws, and teeth.
And it was her senses that urged her to search for a better way to weather the storm. She was on the highest stretch of island jungle that she could see in the dowpour, and was as inland as she dared go without the Earthstalker. It was pure happenstance that she came upon a well-formed cavern. A large nook in the earth completely sheltered from the rain. Just from its position she could tell it was far better shelter than the makeshift camps she had attempted to craft the day since her own arrival. The broad den was appropriately angled to prevent flooding; shielded by rock and tall trees on all sides, and Ixchel was sure she had found a clear respite for herself and those around.
She tossed her head back and howled, over and over, trying to break through the crashing and the lightning with her voice. The message was intended for @Komodo, though inadvertently sent out a vaguely promising call to any others out there that might hear her (@Cattail @Adeline @Faeryn @Anatha @Constantine @Hemithea): Come! Come! There's a cave to weather the storm! I've found a cave to weather the storm! Come! Come!
Panting she stopped to listen for any return songs, and then— like an unfortunate afterthought— she made to check the cavern out. When she was standing half a wolfslength away from the waterfalling cavemouth, Ixchel froze, suddenly able to scent the shelter's only occupant (@Aria). Because the smell was distinctly wolf, she tried first a simple:
And it was her senses that urged her to search for a better way to weather the storm. She was on the highest stretch of island jungle that she could see in the dowpour, and was as inland as she dared go without the Earthstalker. It was pure happenstance that she came upon a well-formed cavern. A large nook in the earth completely sheltered from the rain. Just from its position she could tell it was far better shelter than the makeshift camps she had attempted to craft the day since her own arrival. The broad den was appropriately angled to prevent flooding; shielded by rock and tall trees on all sides, and Ixchel was sure she had found a clear respite for herself and those around.
She tossed her head back and howled, over and over, trying to break through the crashing and the lightning with her voice. The message was intended for @Komodo, though inadvertently sent out a vaguely promising call to any others out there that might hear her (@Cattail @Adeline @Faeryn @Anatha @Constantine @Hemithea): Come! Come! There's a cave to weather the storm! I've found a cave to weather the storm! Come! Come!
Panting she stopped to listen for any return songs, and then— like an unfortunate afterthought— she made to check the cavern out. When she was standing half a wolfslength away from the waterfalling cavemouth, Ixchel froze, suddenly able to scent the shelter's only occupant (@Aria). Because the smell was distinctly wolf, she tried first a simple:
hello?
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Faeryn - June 04, 2017
There were others around, she knew. She had heard them - sometimes she had even seen them. Glimpses mostly, as the rain was still thundering upon them. The blue wolfess would have remained under the small tree that she had tried to use as a shield, but the call that was just about audible in the storm gave a message that promised something much better. A cave. Wasting no time, Faeryn raced away from the tree as fast as she could (which wasn't very fast, as she could hardly see and her limbs were sore) toward the source of the sound.
When she arrived at the cave, she flung herself into it, landing in a heap. At least it was shelter. The small dove picked herself up, glancing around as her eyes adjusted. She could actually see now. The girl made out a figure, then instinctively raised her tail and let out a snarl, but she settled slightly when she realised that it was the one who had called. Her eyes shined with gratitude, and she shook her pelt. The stranger seemed distracted by perhaps someone elses presence, so Faeryn picked a spot at the side of the nook in the earth and lay down. Her eyes searched the area around her, shivering slightly. She was still cold, but the shelter helped. The rain, however, had soaked her pelt. "Thank you?" She mumbled, confused despite herself. She was too tired.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Aria - June 04, 2017
aria had crammed herself into the corner of the cave. it made it feel smaller and safer. she'd managed to fall asleep, managed to dream a bit, but she was waken by the sound of a crash into her safe-haven and the sight of multiple wolves. something inside the pearl begged her to run, escape these evil beings and dive into the ocean for safety-- but this aria knew better than that. when the one wolf growled, she quickly stood alert, her on fur raising and her gaze hardening-- though only at the one clumsy, ignorant, stranger. growl at her in her cave? a warning.
but she settled, knowing better than to try to fight more than one wolf. despite her advantage as dry and rested, she didn't know how many more were with these two. smoothing her fur down, she looked instead to the wolf who entered with caution, dipping her head. "i am here," she said softly, ears flicking. her white eyes scanned the two strangers up and down. the one had already-- stupidly-- made herself at home here, and though aria wouldn't chase her out, she already disliked her... did she not know how to act in a situation such as this? did she not scent that there was another wolf?
"my name is aria january. you may stay here for shelter, if you still wish," she said in a calm, collected manner. it was something she'd been taught, pretend you have the power, someone may give it to you. she sat back down, her tail resting beside her. her luminous gaze again found everyone in the room, checking them over, though it seemed the one had already passed out. she turned her focus on the first female, who she took a liking to, and asked with a sweet smile, "what's your name?"
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Coelacanth - June 04, 2017
At first, when the sea’s fingers had closed themselves tight around the tiny Groenendael, she’d struggled like a wounded bird, slim jaws gaping in protest as her spindly legs took on a frenzied windmilling and her emaciated spine whipped wildly to and fro — but the very real danger of drowning compiled with the realization that the water sought to shelter, not constrict, quieted her frantic desire to be free. She surrendered, though not without a few last protesting jerks and twitches of her weakening body, and was dragged beneath the surface by the swift, relentless pull of the current. Though they stung with salt, her Neptune eyes were open as the suck of the tide bore her further and further undersea, and she saw the wolves she loved in fading, water-winged glimpses as she passed them by.
Amoxtli. Doe. Marbas. Kierkegaard. Komodo.
She was limp and still as the crosscurrent carried her frail weight, to all appearances a very dead dog, but she was alive and whole. The madness of the past few months was revealed to her degree by slow degree. The cagey, skeletal creature she had become. The torment she had endured. The filth of the cave. She could not escape these things or refuse to acknowledge them, for they were now as much a part of her as the innocence that still lay deep within the marrow of her bones and the sweetness that she would one day relearn to exude. Coelacanth. Coelacanth, the water seemed to whisper, and she felt her name in three-beat interludes that jump-started her fading heart. They increased in tempo and volume until at last they reached the pinnacle of their crescendo and she was thrust above surface and fairly deposited upon the beach. Any onlookers might have seen a high, cresting wave that swallowed up the shoreline and left in its greedy wake a puddle of cephalopod ink.
The puddle stirred. The scalloped gradient of Seelie’s rib cage rose sharply once and fell. Long moments passed with little to no progress, and then her thin sides began to flutter in hazy, trepidacious stutters before reclaiming a steady rhythm. Her muzzle fell slackly open as she coughed weakly, expelling seawater, and then she moved no more.
Amoxtli. Doe. Marbas. Kierkegaard. Komodo.
She was limp and still as the crosscurrent carried her frail weight, to all appearances a very dead dog, but she was alive and whole. The madness of the past few months was revealed to her degree by slow degree. The cagey, skeletal creature she had become. The torment she had endured. The filth of the cave. She could not escape these things or refuse to acknowledge them, for they were now as much a part of her as the innocence that still lay deep within the marrow of her bones and the sweetness that she would one day relearn to exude. Coelacanth. Coelacanth, the water seemed to whisper, and she felt her name in three-beat interludes that jump-started her fading heart. They increased in tempo and volume until at last they reached the pinnacle of their crescendo and she was thrust above surface and fairly deposited upon the beach. Any onlookers might have seen a high, cresting wave that swallowed up the shoreline and left in its greedy wake a puddle of cephalopod ink.
The puddle stirred. The scalloped gradient of Seelie’s rib cage rose sharply once and fell. Long moments passed with little to no progress, and then her thin sides began to flutter in hazy, trepidacious stutters before reclaiming a steady rhythm. Her muzzle fell slackly open as she coughed weakly, expelling seawater, and then she moved no more.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - RIP Hemitheia - June 05, 2017
There were words and glances exchanged, and she set to work again. Testing lumps in case they were bodies, dragging at clusters of sea weed, and doing her best to pick through the incliment weather while avoiding the surf. There weren't many wolves to be pulled free of the sand, although it was hard to tell them apart from various piles of debris; this was why Parthenos nearly missed the dark figure as it was pushed to the shore.
She thought it was just another damp pile of weeds, something drummed up from the deep beyond of the endless sea. A fragment of something from far-off which had planted itself, with aid of the storm, to seed something new.
The wolf was correct in part - but upon probing at the lump, Parthenos found the thing to be fleshy in spots, bony in others. She thought she could discern the curve of a spine. There was only ocean scent to the lump, and it was small - so the woman's first thought had not been wolf. She investigated further - picking up a chunk and pulling softly. The lever of the creature's forelimb was evidence enough that yes, this was another survivor. While it was difficult to see where the ruined body began and the damp sand ended, Parthenos got to work in freeing the shape.
The sky was so dark - the sea was so agitated still! - that this would take time; thus Parthenos was occupied, and did not notice as a group of the survivors went off towards shelter.
She thought it was just another damp pile of weeds, something drummed up from the deep beyond of the endless sea. A fragment of something from far-off which had planted itself, with aid of the storm, to seed something new.
The wolf was correct in part - but upon probing at the lump, Parthenos found the thing to be fleshy in spots, bony in others. She thought she could discern the curve of a spine. There was only ocean scent to the lump, and it was small - so the woman's first thought had not been wolf. She investigated further - picking up a chunk and pulling softly. The lever of the creature's forelimb was evidence enough that yes, this was another survivor. While it was difficult to see where the ruined body began and the damp sand ended, Parthenos got to work in freeing the shape.
The sky was so dark - the sea was so agitated still! - that this would take time; thus Parthenos was occupied, and did not notice as a group of the survivors went off towards shelter.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Calypso - June 05, 2017
The girl did not know where her mother was, nor where she herself was. Fear laced her every move, the booming sky enough to curl the child into a small ball. She found herself tucked underneath a small overhang in the cliffside. Her pitiful crys were washed out by the noise of the tossing sea, her trembles blurred by the pounding rain. She was afraid, but knew that it would end - soon.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Faeryn - June 05, 2017
Faeryn knew she should not have acted the way she had, but she couldn't help it. She hadn't been able to see, she had been panicked, she had been in pain. With a gulp, the silver dove turned to look toward the other wolf that was in here, apparently the inhabitant. "I'm sorry for barging in like that - May I stay here too until the storm passes?" She asked, hoping to bbe granted permission to stay. Then again, she could survive on her own. She believed so, anyway. Her wound wasn't too bad - she could just about walk on it. Right?
At the thought of the wound, Faeryn glanced down at her hind leg, licking the gash. It wasn't too deep, but it hurt like hell. She grimaced, searching her body for signs of any other wounds. There were a few scrapes here and there, but nothing serious. They weren't even bleeding - the one on her leg, however, was. It was slowing, though.
Where was she? The blue wolfess still did not know. However, she was in no state to do research.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - King - June 05, 2017
He couldn't remember going into the water - could hardly remember reaching the coast. The wind had been fierce and howling by then, and it'd been hard to think over the sound of it. But he had thought - briefly - of how cool and sure the weather was back home, and how his father and brothers had probably had their last hunt without him, without knowing that he was heading straight into this.
But the wind tasted bright and electric, and King had kept going until he ended up here, somewhere wet and cold and wild. The wind was still whirling around him, kicking sand and other debris into his pelt, into his eyes, into the softer skin of his belly. He flipped over, realizing he'd hit land, and savored the feeling of a hard surface under his paws. It was too windy to open his eyes, so he felt lethargically along the ground, taking one shuffling step at a time. Eventually, he was sure to get someplace. The where of it hardly mattered - he wouldn't get home.
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - Komodo - June 06, 2017
Others appear from in between the woodworks, but the angakkuq was focused on his task at hand — if the wolves that leeched from the forest as well as the sea seemed healthy enough to move around, then they were not in immediate danger and thus were not his priority. Instead, his auric gaze crawled across the sands [flashing with the dancing energy of their thrashing and suddenly illuminated world!] and his form thundered across the beach, back and forth and back and forth, joining a pale woman as they checked bundles of seaweed for signs of life.
The rain obscured all sight and even though he was in a heightened state, Komodo could not discern was debris thrust from the ocean depths and what were living things. The man feared they would come upon a body, life stolen by the fury of the gods, so it was with a small sense of apprehension that he nudged and shook the flotsam that dotted the shore — not for fear of the storm, but for the fear of death.
The brute turned his form to round the wretched shores once more when he saw something black deposited upon the stormweathered beach. He set upon the mysterious form almost immediately, somehow knowing exactly what it was. Komodo would not see if it was the girl nor could he smell if it was the girl but he knew and as he watched his pale consort tug at Coelacanth’s body he felt a strange bark/snarl/whine ripple from his jaws, locked together in utter consternation. He came upon the scene with force, paws tightly gripping the ground, hovering over the crumpled form. Regardless of the other’s attempts to free the dog, Komodo laid his head against her deep ribcage, feeling rise-fall of the breaths that denoted life. It was there — as thin as rails — but it was there.
Komodo looked up. ”It’s her,” his voice strained as he attempted to explain the gravity of the situation to the pale stranger, but knew his words were lost to the wind and meaning lost on a wolf who did not know how long he had prospected for the girl that now lay at his feet. He had found her, then he had lost her, but now he had found her again but her limpid body felt so small and so frail against his own. The relief efforts continued until Coelacanth, for the most part, was free. If she was able to, she could now move; and if she was not able to, Komodo would carry her. This was not a matter that was up for discussion.
They certainly could not stay on the beach — and certainly not with such precious cargo in tow. The angakkuq, who had just moments before resigned himself to surviving upon the whipping sands and awaiting the arrival of others, suddenly wanted nothing more than to find a place to lay Coelacanth and heal her every hurt. The smell of infection rose over the scent of brine and knew she was wounded, not only battered by the surf she loved so much. There were others who needed to be cleansed, but at that moment, he could think of no others. There was a call that offered harborage, but the thunderous roar of the squall distorted the howl and Komodo could not recognize it; thus, it could not be trusted. He could not believe in what he did not see, which is such a large part of his pious nature relied on trinkets and jewels that conveyed some sense of higher purpose. He needed to be grounded in something that was real.
So when Komodo managed to descry the sigh of Axolotl departing with his crew in tow, Komodo decided that was real enough and the man decided they would follow. With urgency, he muscled his head against Coelacanth’s shoulders, hoping to rouse her, but his gentle touch gone — displaced by an anxiou heavy hand. "Help me” he beseeched @Parthenos. If they could get the exhausted girl to stir, and if the two hale individuals braced her on both sides, they could possibly make it inland.
"— please "
The rain obscured all sight and even though he was in a heightened state, Komodo could not discern was debris thrust from the ocean depths and what were living things. The man feared they would come upon a body, life stolen by the fury of the gods, so it was with a small sense of apprehension that he nudged and shook the flotsam that dotted the shore — not for fear of the storm, but for the fear of death.
The brute turned his form to round the wretched shores once more when he saw something black deposited upon the stormweathered beach. He set upon the mysterious form almost immediately, somehow knowing exactly what it was. Komodo would not see if it was the girl nor could he smell if it was the girl but he knew and as he watched his pale consort tug at Coelacanth’s body he felt a strange bark/snarl/whine ripple from his jaws, locked together in utter consternation. He came upon the scene with force, paws tightly gripping the ground, hovering over the crumpled form. Regardless of the other’s attempts to free the dog, Komodo laid his head against her deep ribcage, feeling rise-fall of the breaths that denoted life. It was there — as thin as rails — but it was there.
Komodo looked up. ”It’s her,” his voice strained as he attempted to explain the gravity of the situation to the pale stranger, but knew his words were lost to the wind and meaning lost on a wolf who did not know how long he had prospected for the girl that now lay at his feet. He had found her, then he had lost her, but now he had found her again but her limpid body felt so small and so frail against his own. The relief efforts continued until Coelacanth, for the most part, was free. If she was able to, she could now move; and if she was not able to, Komodo would carry her. This was not a matter that was up for discussion.
They certainly could not stay on the beach — and certainly not with such precious cargo in tow. The angakkuq, who had just moments before resigned himself to surviving upon the whipping sands and awaiting the arrival of others, suddenly wanted nothing more than to find a place to lay Coelacanth and heal her every hurt. The smell of infection rose over the scent of brine and knew she was wounded, not only battered by the surf she loved so much. There were others who needed to be cleansed, but at that moment, he could think of no others. There was a call that offered harborage, but the thunderous roar of the squall distorted the howl and Komodo could not recognize it; thus, it could not be trusted. He could not believe in what he did not see, which is such a large part of his pious nature relied on trinkets and jewels that conveyed some sense of higher purpose. He needed to be grounded in something that was real.
So when Komodo managed to descry the sigh of Axolotl departing with his crew in tow, Komodo decided that was real enough and the man decided they would follow. With urgency, he muscled his head against Coelacanth’s shoulders, hoping to rouse her, but his gentle touch gone — displaced by an anxiou heavy hand. "Help me” he beseeched @Parthenos. If they could get the exhausted girl to stir, and if the two hale individuals braced her on both sides, they could possibly make it inland.
"— please "
RE: the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking - RIP Hemitheia - June 06, 2017
She did no hear the defensive tone of the other's husky attempt at deterring her over the storm; she only saw the lump, and with some feeble flashing light, the silhouette of Komodo as he approached. When he began to unearth the poor creature Parthenos wondered if she should help or move on - but then he was looking to her, pleading with more than just words, as if this particular lump was of value to him. She heeded his wishes. His desire to save this particular wolf hearkened back to something from before; reminding Parthenos of something, but it was vague and undefined. She began to work on freeing the dark figure from its anchors alongside the male, and then try to carefully get the creature upright. Wherever Komodo wished for them to go, they would go. And maybe once the two of them were safe off of the beach, she would return to scour it for more survivors - but for now this dark thing took precedent.