Wheeling Gull Isle there's no pride in sharing scars to prove it

More than anything, Ixchel was a creature of habit, and she had come to take on the unpredictable habits of the sea. She did not worship the water as her brother, but she loved it all the same, and enjoyed the rare moments that she could embody it -- moments like now. She was relaxing in the shade when a great crashing through the undergrowth had her on her feet in an instant. The islander watched a young she-wolf tear through the tropicwood like an unbidden fire, and Ixcel was roused by her speed and vibrancy.

Taking on the reckless grace of pursuing wave, the Corten bounded playfully after the other girl -- a lively cry on her lips as she beckoned to join in on her game.

She was all fire and stone, and earth and wonder, and Ixchel wanted nothing more than to know her deeply. If she had known of the affection her brother felt for this girl-from-the-mountains, she would have understood the connection immediately. The Cortens were wolves of the sea -- forever malleable and shifting -- so it made sense under the guise of "opposites attract" that they would find love in the most immovable of places. For while you could never swim twice in the same waters, the paths of peaks were truly knowable, and immortal.

Ixchel could chase the long-legged warrior forever; her own stocky build churning as she gave wild chase to the fleeing woman. A throaty laugh took away her breath, eyes dancing as she tracked her quarry through the trees, and surged after her like a diamond-tipped spear. What Ixchel lacked in stride, she made up for in reflex, making a mad dash to cut a different path and cut off Maera's unpredictable line of travel.

Ixchel could not remember the last time she had felt so free -- had such fun. And she never recalled chasing fire through the woods; a task she would certainly take up again, if given the chance. Her love for Maera was as swift as her brother's, if not forged of a different kiln, and the Corten she-wolf was eager to prove herself worthy of the attention. She could not best her in the race though; the mountain wolf's stride was too long, too swift, for Ixchel to catch her even at full tilt. She was glad when Maera let up on the game, and turned to her instead with another play-bow. The islander pulled up, her tongue lolling from exertion, but she was not done just yet.

"Do I get to chase you now?" Ixchel grinned wildly at the question, and she dipped into a bow herself. I think not, she purred breathlessly. Chase was not a game she could win with the woman; the battler's talents lie elsewhere. You've got me on speed. So how about a game of brawn instead? And with a sultry cackle, the Corten sprang at her with the playful intent to spar.