Aesop walked with the sea on his left, along the rocky line between the shore and the unknown land beyond. He had quickly discovered that walking great distances on the sand was difficult and tiring, that the ground would shift beneath his paws and make things a whole lot more difficult than he was willing to put up with. So he stuck to terrain he was more accustomed to, the short, brown blades of grass that struggled up through the sand and rocks. It was the best of both worlds, really, because the ground was more solid, but he could still feel the soft sand beneath his paws.

He had left the edge of the forest before the sun began to peek over the horizon. The world was grey and quiet save the cries of gulls and the crashing of the waves. The smell of salt was strong in the air, and Aesop felt young. Invigorated. He began to walk north along the shore, pleased to pay witness to all the wonders that unfolded with the miles. He was most interested in the sea lions, though he didn’t have a name for them. Interested, but they were also fucking weird, so he kept his distance until he could ask someone else about them. There were many things he encountered that he didn’t have names for.

It was well into the afternoon when he decided not to head any further, instead deciding to work his way towards the ocean, since the day was warm and it wouldn't be as cold. He thinks? Wolves don't know much about thermodynamics.

Rather unwisely, Aesop didn't pay much attention to the water itself. He spent some time glancing across the water to the island that lay there. He... wasn't sure what it was. An island? Maybe, but it seemed too far away to be an island. Was it... was it another continent? He knew they were there, across the ocean. That land mass seemed far enough away.

Probably a continent.

He came to this conclusion about the same time as he realized that there was a wolf in the water, steadily making her way to the shore. An altogether strange woman, whom he first mistook (in a pants-shitting moment of terror) as a sort of wraith. A wraith she was, slight and strange in every manner. Still, he was curious, and so he continued to approach her cautiously.

And boy, did she not look pleased to see him. Still, he was not deterred. "Hey now, miss. You don't seem too pleased to see me. Got something on my face or what? From the look of it, you do. What happened to you?" He hadn't noticed from farther away, but it appeared that she had some taken some damage to her muzzle. From experience (the evidence of which he bears proudly,) he knew how damn inconvenient they were.

Aesop felt he had little to fear. She was strange and hostile, but small. Perhaps he was underestimating her, but at his size he felt he had little to fear from her. And so, despite her attitude, he remained friendly, yet alert as she emerged from the foam and waves.

She shook, showering him with cold and brine. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and drew himself up a little larger, as if to remind her who was the greater of the two. An intimidation tactic, though that wasn't his goal. "Unfortunate," he tutted, "you're a pretty girl. Scars give you dignity, though. Sorta suits you, I think." Half of that was a lie. If she was beautiful, it was in the way that tempered steel is, sharp and cold. Aesop preferred the beauty of a flower, and if it had to be sharp, a rose. He shrugged, then attended to her question, "just taking a walk, like old men like me do sometimes. Don't see any lions 'round here, though, so I think I'm alright."

Ideally, their encounter would pass civilly, if not in a more friendly manner. She had already captured his intrigue with her knowledge of the lions- the beasts he had passed before, he presumed. What more could she tell him?

And he wasn't keen on making enemies so soon after relocating, either. It was bound to happen, this he knew, but he had hoped it would be when he was more established. Aesop hoped he would still get that luxury. She hadn't seemed swayed by compliments, or at least not the ones he was offering. This was no great loss to him, and his need to impress did not run so deep that he would press the matter.

"Lions," he repeated wryly, now smiling slightly, "are they dangerous? Are they prey? Tell me more, miss... I do believe I never got your name. A damn shame."

Well, now that she'd proven knowledgeable (to what extent he did not know, but he planned on finding out, so long as she'd let him) he was far more inclined to hang around. More and more, she interested him, particularly after her strange utterance. He could put up with a little abuse, verbal or otherwise, so long as he got what he wanted. They didn't have to be friends, but there was still much profit to glean from the encounter.

"Caiaphas," he repeated, the name awkward on his tongue, "Aesop. What'd you say earlier? It was another language, yeah?" He followed her hungry stare to the nearby beast. He didn't trust that they were not dangerous, though they seemed fat and lazy. It's breath steamed as it lay, and he turned back to her. "Seems like you got a good feel for the area, care to help a guy out?"

Much to his frustration, Aesop's first question (and the more pressing one, because he had a love of strange languages and the cultures that went with them) was left unanswered. Instead, the woman instead began to move along the upper reaches of the waves and foam. "Hey, where're you-" Aesop began, before just following suit. He didn't move with as much grace as she, the sand still foreign to him, but he followed just behind her, ready to watch and learn.

Aesop adopted a similar stance, stalking in her wake, nodding at her words. So they were dangerous, he learned, but only in the water. Well, he liked to think he was dangerous as well, but only on the land. Maybe they weren't so different after all.

Her strategy seemed sound, and with keen eye and not-so-sure foot, he turned with her.