There was a time once not too long ago when the sea had given him something wonderful—the gift of family. When his mother and her siblings’ lack of attention towards him had driven him beyond a point of return, it was Caiaphas that had found him and it was to the sea that she’d taken him. There, he’d met others, many of which he’d grown rather fond of, even if actually spending time with them had proven too nerve-wracking of a task. Deep down, he had cared for them, and he still did. Only now things were different, and incredibly so. Because Caiaphas was no longer with them and the sea had chased them out of their home, forcing them inland and into a world unknown. This was not the north, not a place where he could better guide them, but he had to try—even though he, too, was just as frightened as the rest of them.

With any free moment that he found, Aningan inspected their temporary home. It was so different from the coast and north both, so flat and uneventful. It was open, more so than what he was comfortable with, but he tried to contain any negativity that threatened to overwhelm him; for now, it was home and he was supposed to be the first one to solidify that. He hid his worries beneath curiosity: when would the earth’s anger recede? What did this land look like before this all started? He imagined it hadn’t been much different, although the fading traces of deer told him that it was once far more bountiful. Perhaps the deer had evacuated from their home here just the same as Rusalka was forced away from the shore.

Maybe the return of the herd would signify safety back home, too.

But desperation was not a charming trait to wear, so he abandoned those thoughts. In their place, his focus took hold of his surroundings as Aningan padded towards the outskirts of the plateau. There he caught wind of a familiar scent, which he trailed after until the other boy could be seen. He arrived just in time to see the branch snap free and then be cast aside, disposed of with ease for reasons he could not figure out. Whatever was going through the kid’s mind, he figured they were both in need of a distraction (or maybe he was projecting) and called out, “Did you find something?” as he approached. Anyone could probably tell that it was just a stick but the bear was willing to play dumb if it meant they could both think about something else, even for only a minute.

The other boy was quick to turn after Aningan had spoken, seemingly startled by this sudden company. An apology was hardly a second away from being given when a wad of gunk came firing out of Reyes’ mouth, dropping unceremoniously to the ground in front of him with a nice, audible plop. His brows immediately pinched together with confusion and a hint of disgust as he stared down at the clump; he sent out an onslaught of silent thank you’s to the spirits of his ancestors for preventing said collection of gunk from hitting him directly. Outwardly, he stepped to the side and moved around the pile, trying his best to keep it out of his sight, and therefore out of his mind. Thankfully, it wasn’t long after that he was given an answer, which gave him even more footing for escaping any mental replays of what had just happened.

“Yeah, there sure are a lot of trees,” he remarked. “They’re not as tall as the ones back home, though.” These trees were ones that he was more accustomed to seeing, having been born into a woodland and then raised in the mountains. He had come to appreciate and respect the sequoias for their immensity alone but, with equal measures, there was a part of him that had feared them—especially with the ocean’s malice grasping at them, he worried whether or not their magnificence would lead to their literal downfall. And if that were to happen, he didn’t want anyone to be anywhere near them.

“We’ll be able to go home eventually,” he tried to assure him, swallowing his own dubiety in favour of nurturing hope. “I don’t know when but we will. As soon as the ocean is happy again and everyone is ready.” Although, for some, would they ever be ready? The ocean had stolen from some of them things which are irreplaceable, lives that could not be revived. And then the earth had stolen again, rumbling with rage and ridding their range of sustenance.

Just how more trying may the times turn?

Aningan peered around at their surroundings, searching visually whilst also drawing in any presenting scents. He could not take them back to the ocean right now, and he could not tear down even a single tree, but perhaps he might be able to find a small meal. Another deep inhale and he swore he could smell something, little but edible nonetheless; the faint traces of a rodent lingered, hardly a trail to follow, their being so small. But… “Did you smell that?” he asked anyways, hopeful that his nose was not simply tricking him. Hopeful, too, that a wolf might be able to catch a mouse without a feathered overseer.