Leaving Shearwater Bay had been one of the hardest things that Kerberos Aok had to ever do in his short life span. In the truth of reality, it had been the only home he had known; despite that it had not been the place he had been born to. Even now, Kerberos did not know he had been given as a sign of peace between the Bay wolves and the Nereides. He thought it was because he was a spawn, a male and that because of this he had been unloved and decidedly unwanted. He could not remember his time within the Cove, knowing only the smell of Nanuq’s fur and the company of his ‘adopted’ siblings. Becoming himself had been the hardest part of living through puberty, though it was decidedly easier than he initially thought it would be, even with the knowledge that he was genetically half of Lecter, the ex-shaman of the Bay. Kaskae and Jinx had lead the Bay well and he had been contented to follow his sisters as their Mariner. Sure, leaving had been hard; but Atka had demanded it of him. Told him that while he would see them again, someday, his place was longer with the Bay. Accepting her words had been like swallowing nails, and completing the transit away from his family, away from the Sea, precious as it was to him, had been like walking on a bed of broken glass. It cut, deeper at times, than in others. Atka’s presence, knowing that the infinite, beautiful Bear God walked beside him and shared in his grievances and woes was…comforting. He did not always see her corporal form but he could sense her and from her light the Aok (Nereides-Kesuk -- he wasn’t terribly sure what last name to go by so settled for the one he’d always had) drew from her offered strength.

He missed the gentle roar of the sea, the salty brine that would ride the gentle waves of the wind, missed the feel of the lapping water as it would reach for him. Kerberos almost missed it with a physical ache. He supposed that any body of water would suffice -- hence his initial draw to Swiftcurrent Creek -- where he had paused to take a drink and a rest only to end up camping for a few days. Two moons and three suns, at least. Kerberos had never had what one might call ‘wanderlust’, he was Team Homebody, but Atka was satisfied with these lands, and so would he….eventually. He supposed that he was expected to find a pack to attempt to weave himself into -- though it would take time for him to convince his mind that he was no longer in Seahawk, that he was no longer in the Bay, and that these packs could be, vastly, different. Adjusting would take time, but Atka’s demand was not something the Aok boy had any intentions of ignoring. He trusted her. She had first shown herself to him from the foam of the Sea months ago; and since that moment Kerberos had not doubted her.

Like the sea she was infinite. Surviving. Conquering.

There was little wonder why he’d made the initial connection, twining the connection with the Sea to his faith in Atka; and maybe he was breaking some rules in doing such, but as far as he was aware Atka did not seem to have a problem with it.

Sea-green eyes glimpsed up at the darkening, brilliantly painted dusk sky, pulling his seaweed ‘package’ protectively towards him, close to his chest. How it had managed to survive the journey was fascinating enough -- mostly because he managed to keep his ‘addiction’ (pft, he could quit at any time) under close control. Inside the swathe of seaweed nestled a gift of the sea, an iridescent, gleaming pearl that he’d had for as long as he could remember. Selfishly, he could not part with it. It was a part of the Sea and was like She was always with him. It was something worth protecting. It was precious and the seaweed would not be consumed until he had found himself a home and a safe little niche in a private and permanent den for his pearl.

Kerberos found comfort in the consistent sound of the moving water, though it was not nearly the same thing. Slowly, he stretched a paw towards the water, dipping his toes in, though no more. Submerging too much would wash away the dried salt water that saturated each and every tendril of Kerberos’ fur and while others found it uncomfortable and itchy, he loved it. It was how he carried the Sea with him -- besides his pearl. The salty scent of the ocean clung to him permanently like a cologne. Kerberos had always be frosted in salt water, possibly since his birth, details of which he did not remember. Though this reminded him -- much to his distaste -- of Lecter who bathed in blood and never washed it off, Kerberos convinced himself that it was different because salt water wasn’t blood. Thoughts of the ex-shaman were pushed deftly out of his mind as he relaxed his mind and focused on the numbing feel of the water rushing over and between the toes of his forepaw. Kerberos found this to be relaxing, and felt the tension that had previous tensed his shoulders leave him, as if the current was pulling it out of him. In a moment of homesickness he found himself missing Jinx, Kaskae, and Silatyok -- and the numerous others he had begun to get to know. Missing them was not the same thing as remorse. He did not regret this journey, merely, he regretted (despite how much he truly had missed his months of solitude when he had spent staring endlessly at the Sea, broken only by Nanuq’s frequent visits and their deep, meaningful talks) the solitude. Yet, this was a journey he had to make on his own. So it must be.

When he had further learned the truth of his parentage via Nutaaq, thinking of Nanuq had triggered this particular thought path, he had been disbelieving; and then when stubborn refusal had given way to common sense he had been angry. Angry at Nanuq for never bothering to tell him when she had been given countless opportunities to do so, angry that Lecter had been the consort that had sired him, angry at Aktaie for giving him up -- Kerberos assumed, knowing what he did of the Nereides culture, that this was because he was a male and therefore was not perfect. Angry at the Sirens for not caring enough to come visit him. So being taken away to Shearwater Bay basically equaled death? Or mythological means? That he stopped, what, existing? Maybe, Kerberos examined as these emotions flooded him again after so many months, he hadn’t entirely forgiven. He had, for what little it was worth, forgiven Nanuq…for she had loved him as her own blood. He was grateful for that, and in every way that it counted she had been his mother. It was in the past, but it was an old wound that only seemed to fester when he examined it too closely. It became abundantly clear that it would never heal if he didn’t come to terms with it, if he did not fully forgive that which was never his fault. The past was the past and he understood that old grievances no longer mattered. He would have to forgive them someday, but not today.

Kerberos was broken from his consuming thoughts only when a streak of black moved, caught out the corner of Kerberos’ sea green eyes. Paw drew back, toes hitting air as he planted his paw firmly back on the ground only to rise in a languid motion, shifting his body to face the other male, examining him with a weariness, standing guard over his package, which he was semi-conscious of between his front paws. Ears slicked back at half mast atop his skull, tail remaining neutral as Kerberos extended his muzzle, sniffing curiously at the air, trying to grasp what little information he could from scent alone. Words danced upon his tongue, itching to be spoken, but Kerberos was (almost) too set in his ways to break them -- even though Atka was trying to encourage him too. He had, hardly ever, spoken first in his life and today he did not see fit to change that long streak.

turn into joining/recruiting thread? :D The more he allowed the idea of creating a pack to ferment the more appealing it became. It had begun to twist his thoughts and trick the lanky hybrid into believing that being some sort of a leader was something he was interested in. The silver-eyed female had tainted his mind, making her unwanted presence known as she and her absurd idea consumed him. Would wolves – and other hybrids, of course – really listen to him? While he was mighty high on himself (though he’d never admit it aloud, especially not in front of the chocolate girl) Styx was infatuated with the idea of being a rogue and had never given orders or direction before. He had been a loner since birth and wasn’t even sure how a pack was structured – he just knew there was someone in command and the rest would follow, even if their opinions differed. The Alpha’s word was law, and those who disobeyed were punished. During his travels the yearling had come across several wolves from a particular pack that had interested him – not enough for him to seek membership, but enough for him to question what made them so unique. It had been a small, peaceful group of wolves who had made their home on the coast in the depths of several sea caverns that dotted the water. They had offered him a place to rest but as soon as Styx had stumbled upon their territory, he had found his way out after a brief conversation with several members. The sea-loving wolves had shared their names but the inky knight could no longer recall what they were – the only recollection he had was the salty scent that clung to their fur, which was similar to the one radiating off the sandy-coloured wolf before him. Although the stranger was aware of Styx’s presence he remained quiet, merely studying the lanky yearling with his sea green eyes. Like the sandy male Styx Constanin preferred to keep his mouth shut until the other wolf spoke first unless he was feeling ‘chatty’. His moods fluctuated constantly, so much that even the coyote-wolf couldn’t keep up with them. Each canine he came across caused his personality to shift, adjusting to whoever stood before him. This was another reason why the youth wasn’t keen about pursuing a leadership position – he was positive the other pack members would think he was a raging lunatic. Which was half true. “You smell of the ocean,” he commented finally, stating the obvious with a crooked grin stretched across his dark lips. “Why are you so far inland?” To be honest Styx wasn’t particularly interested in the boy’s past, but it was a conversation starter. It was the stranger’s scent that had peeked his interest and kept the shadow from running off.

It seemed, perhaps, to Kerberos, that the ebony male and him were similar in the fact that neither seemed to feel the need to break a silence. Of course, Kerberos could not assume anything of the other boy. It was just the sense that he got, though if it was a correct sense or not was yet to be determined. When the other boy had approached, he had not seen fit to talk Kerberos’ ear off, though, he said nothing at all. For Kerberos, old habits seemed to die very, very stubbornly and very hard. Finally, after some time where they had stood, assessing one another, the ebony boy broke the silence. Bringing to the forefront of Kerberos’ mind that he did, indeed smell of the ocean. Kerberos knew this was true, had worked since for as long as he could remember to make it so, after all, though the scent of the ocean, used to it as Kerberos was, had become lost to him. Kerberos, too, wore the ocean in the tendrils of his once silky fur were coarse with salt water that had frosted to his fur. Unconsciously, he clutched his precious seaweed swathe and the gift of the sea, tighter between his large, sandy front paws. Kerberos itched to correct Styx's use of the word 'ocean' with 'Sea' but resisted because he figured it would set a bad precedent.

For a few seconds, Kerberos contemplated telling the stranger unnecessary information about himself. How the Sea had named him, and that he had some mystical, spiritual connection with it. Of course, to anyone who did not understand that, it would sound utterly raving mad. So, Kerberos was content with keeping such things to himself, yet, Styx, though the other boy could not have known it, had asked a heavy question that dappled into Kerberos’ religion and the devoutness in which he stood fast to it. “The Sea commanded it of me,” Because to Kerberos Atka and the Sea were one entity. It was his own way of interpreting Shearwater’s faith and connecting it to the one the Nereides followed. Whether the other boy thought Kerberos was a loony or not was up for debate, but Kerberos, in truth, cared little. He could think whatever he wanted, it would not affect Kerberos (or so he thought anyway).

In a bought of initiative, Kerberos spoke next, “I am Kerberos Aok.” Kerb was still undecided on which sire name he wanted to use, which one defined him the best, so stuck with Aok because it was the last name he’d always known and was less complicated than ‘Aok-Nereides-Kesuk’.

sorry again :( <3 The yearling had been so desperate to pursue the world on his own and put as much distance as possible between himself and his family. Being a vagabond was who he truly was – it was what he had always wanted, as well as the freedom that came along with it. Something had shifted; something was wrong with him. The chocolate stranger had planted a seed deep within his mind, and it had begun to flourish. Perhaps creating a pack with the mysterious silver-eyed at his side would be beneficial to the long-limbed hybrid; as enticing as the nomad lifestyle was, a pack offered stability. It meant that he could create his own rules, not only for himself but for others to follow. As appealing as it was, it was also incredibly frightening. Styx didn’t know how to lead a pack – he didn’t even know how to interact with more than one canine at a time. Since his family parted ways the lanky hybrid had not been in the company of another longer than a day – being constantly surrounded by others was an alarming thought, one that sent shivers down his spine. ‘The sea commanded it of me.’ The sandy stranger’s voice tore him away from his thoughts, seafoam eyes focused on the salty male. It was a strange thing to say, but the hybrid did not question it. While he was normally snarky and outspoken, Styx kept his mouth shut. He did not enjoy making enemies – they created unnecessary and unwanted problems. After his brief encounter with the Sea wolves the hybrid had learned that some canines were more spiritual than others, believing in different deities and beliefs. It was not something that the inky knight followed but he respected the decisions of others – if it was what they wanted to believe in Styx was in no position to tell them they were wrong. So, in response to the sandy male’s strange words, the hybrid simply nodded with a faint smile pressed to his lips. “Styx Constantin,” he introduced with a flick of his tail, seafoam eyes still focused on the similar coloured eyes of Kerberos. The lanky youth had gotten into the habit of dropping his surname from his introductions – the name Lelantus tied him to the members of his family that he was desperately trying to forget. And it was just too much to spit out at once. “How long have you been away from the Sea?” The yearling’s initial feeling of speaking merely to strike up a conversation had been washed away; since Kerberos’ strange comment the hybrid had become interested in what else he had to say.