Wheeling Gull Isle los caracolitos te esperan en la orilla

The borders were not a large concern of Komodo’s. As far as the brute understood, there was not getting in and no getting out [trust him, he’d tried] and whatever little need there was, Axolotl covered with ease. Of course, the earthstalker had never had been one for borders and it was a task he was happy to leave to others more skilled in the area than he. After all, what did a vagrant, a wayfarer such as he know about borders — the concept of property did not suit him because, well, all the world was his property.

There were a few wounded from the storm, but none gravely. For this, the man was grateful. He was a man skilled in the shamanic arts but he did not necessarily enjoy his own employ. It was grisly work, but it was the work of the gods so he did it anyways; sloughing infection from the sheepdog’s withers, packing others’ wounds with herbs and moss and nutritive gifts of the sea. Seagrass was plentiful upon the beach, having been ripped from the ocean floor by the gale-force currents — ripe for the taking. So take he did, and the small band of wolves flourished… all things considered. The earthstalker had taken it upon himself to explore the inner reaches of the island; though he was an adaptable man, the forest was in his blood and he felt immensely more comfortable surrounded by the shaded canopies of trees. He aimed to chart the island but could never get too far before the visceral need to tend to Coelacanth drove him back seaward. These short jaunts served more as a cache-building ritual rather than true expansion and exploration — there was so much that they still did not know, and would not know, until they were all strong enough to chart the island together.

Komodo had seen her, that new girl on the island — just glimpses, but Komodo had seen enough to know she did not suffer through the storm as they did. And here he saw her again, flashes of red amongst the innards of the island, giving off a very restless aura. Everyone upon the island was experiencing varying degrees of apprehension, so he was not one to pass judgement. Instead, the man ceased his own movement, pressed his haunches against the coastal earth, chuffed to gain her attention — and just watched.

He succeeded in gaining her attention and for the moment she suspended her fretting. They looked at each other, blinking in their unknowingness. He did not know her, yet she smelled faintly of Axolotl and the brute wondered, momentarily, how that could possibly be — but he doesn’t linger on the thought for too long, shrugging it off as another surprise shared at the behest of the island’s unseen forces. Things that didn’t make sense, somehow they made sense here. He conceded himself to this long ago — and the variety kept himself entertained. There was always some new task and new problem; a new land to be explored and with Coelacanth here, Komodo found himself quite at peace. He did not expect this feeling to last long, so he resigned himself to enjoying it while it was here.

The brute cocked an eyebrow at the young girl. He looked down his snout at the little red skittish thing but the grin upon his lips foretold his good-naturedness. “Y’alright?” he questioned in his roughhewn tone, wondering if he would get an answer to his question or if she would would avoid it entirely.

Komodo let out a chuckle at her attempt to recover, hoping he wouldn’t offend her with an attempt to lighten the situation. However, Komodo was a very straightforward man and wouldn’t be able to easily let go of such a sweet, feminine folly. "Y’sure?” he drawled in the same tone, reminiscent of his previous question — but his word entertained a hint of jocularity. Everyone needed to manage their anxieties some way, some how — there was so shame in it, as long as a wolf’s chosen relief did not harm others.

Unnecessary violence did not honor the gods, and he would never approve of it.