Sea Lion Shores when i die, you can push me out to sea

Seeking ONE other participant, please. His rib cage markings are not visible, as he is covered in seaweed. If there’s no interest, I’ll just archive it as READ ONLY. ^^

Claimed by @Wintersbane!

CAVEATS: I am a slow poster and Sizzle is a grump.

The storm could hardly be called kind, but when she thrust the wolf ashore — amidst a ropy mass of fleshy seaweed and other such flotsam — she did so with rare gentleness. He coasted placidly before simply materializing when the seafoam fizzled away, a creature fashioned of salt and whitewater and serrated sharkteeth. Only the faint rise and fall of his narrow breast, littered with old scars that showed pinkly against his pallid fur, hinted at life — and one would have to be looking for that flicker of motion to really see it. Otherwise, there was not much to discern the sodden pile of wolfflesh from the sand or the weed that threatened to bury him alive.

Szymon’s instinctive response to stimuli of any kind was violence, pure and simple. His time as a mate and father had tempered this kneejerk reaction somewhat, but he hadn’t been either of those things for far too long. He roared up from the tangle of seaweed and flotsam with salt and foam at his lips, his golden eyes glittering with a desperate sort of defensiveness as he put distance between himself and the much larger male. A wrinkle of his muzzle and a flash of fangs bade the stranger to keep his distance, though it would likely be clear to the soturi that Szymon was in no shape to make demands. Weariness pulled at his limbs and he swayed on his feet, catching himself before he toppled over completely and forcing his legs to hold steady.

Winterbane’s nonchalance does little to sway Szymon’s inclination to believe that every interaction — even this one; even though the larger male says he’s not looking for a fight — is an altercation waiting to happen. There is no question of threat or no threat for the embittered Cairn — everything is a threat. He just needs to know whether it’s killable or not. This wolf? Decidedly not killable in Szymon’s current state, though he holds the typical Cairn arrogance when it comes to the Sea. If he needs to, he can retreat into Her arms — and if the two of them can seduce the gunmetal male into Her embrace, he will die like any other unblessed wolf.

His tripping tongue flickers like a serpent’s tongue betwixt his bared incisors, and his GTFO visage gradually recedes into a more neutral expression. “N-No,” he agrees in a rusty baritone, fitting the words slowly to his tripping tongue, “I n-never look. The fights f-f-find me.” He is not joking, sardonic as the words may seem. His eyes, mouth, and one ear are focused on the oddly-painted wolf as he lowers cautiously to his haunches, but one ear pans in constant motion to follow with fierce alacrity each note of the symphonic soundscape. “What do you ssseek.”