Wheeling Gull Isle racharra sees a ghost

@Judah , also do not worry about making ur reply as ungodly long as this i just needed to paint a picture LOL. 

some details are kept vague but a lot of this references eightieth. assume there is a bit of a time jump to account for travel time.

scornful, spiteful and stupid. the ogre-blooded girl travels alone.

it was a detour from the initial path to moontide, forced so by the increasingly turmoiled nebet. the meeting initially went better than she expected, but something itched at her that night when she went to sleep. every word, every gesture is vividly recreated piece by piece even when the court has long since been empty. racharra then took those pieces, and chose which ones struck her hardest. it's only in retrospect when the tears and mistakes of a tapestry could be seen, once she sat underneath the cool moonlight rather than the burning sun. something shifted again in the girl. each night since then, dark fur stirred and prayed. all until one morning before another lecture, the nebet just couldn't take it anymore.
she greeted Ra and apologized at the same time that early morning. she brought along with her only what she would need, and ran — ignoring or forgetting the Pharoah's order; she couldn't quite pick which one would be worse. she had the foresight to at least warn a fellahin of her departure to moontide, but nothing more. sneaking out meant a headstart before a party would be sent to follow the rebelling lady's footsteps in desert sand. but right now, she only wished to be alone and a camp of mazoi and fellahin would be too much noise. what's the worst that could happen?
from the forest, the dark woman slinks out into the clearing and steps on soft beach sand again. punishment is inevitable, but it's for a different racharra to deal with. the sound of the tide's dance fills her ears as the beach sand embraces her paws so soon again. for now it is Tefnut who keeps her company. keeps her peace. She always has, as goddess of water.
adventuring beyond the red palace allows a freedom for racharra to explore the beauty that is the wilds. the treacherous desert, who buries those in its sand if they cannot survive its holy heat, was hard to even cross let alone wander. yet racharra made a beeline through the desert, only stopping along the creek (but never the lake) for thirst. yet freedom like this has its price.
this pilgrimage is different to the last. she set out willingly, but forced so soon to return to the coastal moon village by the order of marriage. the girl, who only innocently considered marriage, is now the one whose freedom of choice is a test for those of ladies and lords after her who are unfortunate enough to cross paths with akashingo. if she fails, she'll fail them too.
the pride that burned in toula and senmut's eyes doused out by that of the cold disapproval of the consort. if he were Pharoah, racharra would never have even been able to step foot within the halls to plead for her fate. she would've been getting ready for the misery that would be her wedding to the man who paid the best price for her hand. everyone had a plan for racharra except for herself: the one who would have to live out whatever whims occured to those above her.
did miho know of this? is that why she disappeared? why couldn't miho have at least warned racharra of the future. she didn't have to take racharra along; just something — anything! — to warn her would've helped racharra prepare. instead, it falls on the lake cub like an anvil and her sister drifts to greener pastures than the red sand palace.
..i thought you'd always be there for me.. her message is carried into the wind and the nebet waits for a response, to be proven right. wherever her sister was, racharra wished her well and in the same breath damned her for leaving.
pressure threatens to burst through her skull if she continues to think about the meeting, and a breath trembles forth. she closes her eyes, and prays an apology to most of akashingo for thinking such ill will of them. it was only few who deserved her ire. it wasn't fair to them, but racharra's starting to learn that many things aren't.

marigold eyes flutter open to something pleasant for once: dusk, the best time of day for how Ra kissed the land so that it may turn pink as he says his farewells for now, is fast-approaching. like always, orange blends with pink and purple as the night is gently introduced. 
racharra's focus doesn't lie on it for once but on the isle she finds she stands across from. she'd seen it before. grand and inviting now so close to it, yet racharra remains at the shores. the waters beckon for her, but she'd never learned to swim. so with the remaining light left, she scours until she sets upon a bridge. it's faint, and the tides have started to protest the sun's departure, but she takes it anyways. each step ever-so careful but the nebet fixates on reaching the isle. she'd always seen land surround water, but never water embracing land as much as it did this little chunk of it. the isle itself reminds her of an oasis akashingo would camp at in between their frequent journeys. the great palms, the refreshing water that soaks her skin, it's all the same.
a wave attempts to knock at her leg, but the nebet crosses the bridge with ease. with only time nipping at her heels racharra explores the island. after a shake of her dark pelt, of course.
the salt of the ocean clings to skin like fleas, but she has made it. the sand and grass is even softer than the mainland's coast. rubbing against the palm tree bark satiates the nagging sea salt. and there's even fermented fruit just waiting to be drank! but she resists. (if she was found drunk and stranded, she'd be dragged and chained within the palace's prison for the foolishness of it alone). but a presence lingers on the island: someone is watching her. there's faint motes of someone having visited, it wasn't just her who had tumbled into this isle.
but who? spirits? a mazoi sent to retrieve her? the deeper she enters the land, the more it tells of its story: the remaining vestiges of its previous owners. the marks are faint since Thoth's time takes all, but present enough for the girl to linger on as a path stretches along and guides its vistors through, all up until a mount. a mass of lavender stretches outwards atop the plateau, dancing with each breeze. excusing the flowers aside, however, leads the wandering nebet to a different presence. a mound of dirt, and the purple flowers carry a different meaning. en masse their heads bob with each sob and prayer for the pile. it's a grave; just the length of herself, give or take. racharra joins them with a quick prayer and bow to the one that now sleeps surrounded by lavender.
the burial is the only other presence she can feel, besides the wafts of wolf that brushes against the nebet's nose. Anubis sits besides her and tells of the dead man's tragedy through the howling wind, but it's lost on mortal ears.
a sense that something else is with her refuses to leave like an opportunistic fly. flitting, buzzing, and most of all distracting. it tears her away from the grave (though she might've just been looking for a reason) and looks for the perpetrator. dark body shoots upright and firm while its head whips around frantically, the nebet that barely controls it almost shouts a command for the onlooker to show themselves before she comes to a terrible, dreadful realization: she must leave.

after all of the touring, she'd forgotten that Thoth includes her in his time, and only now does she realize that the pink sky has deepened to a purple. the sun stares her down at the horizon, and tells her she must hurry as moonlight is determined to replace it.
she runs, her own strength finally returning as blood pumps to carry her legs. she's left to halt at the shoreline as the bridge once taken has now disappeared. 
where is it? where is it! she squints, pained as she ducks low to the water to find it before deciding to rely on only touch. her front paws meet the familiar mound and it's only then that racharra realizes that water is as treacherous as red sands. the waves, who at first perhaps only nudged at racharra, now had full intent to keep her on their isle. waves slam into her legs, forcing her muscles to tense to withstand their rage. and yet she, carefully, pushes forward, trying to reason with the waters. besides, there would be far more to deal with if she takes too long to reach moontide. gods forbid someone was sent out to supervise her only to not find her in the village. word would send out she'd betrayed akashingo, and she would be exiled and all those that come after her punished for her own mistake.

she looks back to find the sun giving its last light for her, and quickly the land is shrouded in darkness while the lake girl is stuck fighting against rising, angry waters. why must Tefnut be angry at her now? did She think racharra was running away from her duties? whatever the goddess thinks, she's wrong, but that doesn't stop the waves from giving up their battery on the girl.

He cuts like an arrow through the heavy toyon brush, down a sloping ravine until he comes to the sea cliffs. There he flattens on his belly and creeps forward, looking out towards- her.

She is going to drown.

The ocean catches her. It bears aloft its great draughts. She beats against them, long arms making for mainland. But the sun is in the water now, and the sea takes on the color of manganese.

Judah knows the meaning of this. The moon calls the tides into the bay, to bite the coast, and swallow the landbridge whole. He can see stars already in the eastern sky.

His gaze goes to her as an eider’s prey, the same look which had stalked her all evening. All his possession, all his pride, all his love was the isle. He wanted her gone. The same for any who would try to take it from him. She is the stronger, but it is by heart he knows the islet- every tree, every stone, every path from north to south and the hidden ones which cut through the red cedars.

Even now he feels something pulling at his bones to defend. It is all that is left of home. But she is going to drown.

“What’s in her mind?”
“She cannot swim, Jude.”
“She’ll never make it back.”
“There was a time when you couldn't swim, either.”

The boy’s face sets with new resolve. He lurches from the cliffside and skids down the ravine, striking the wild coast with three paws. One last gulp of salt air and he dives through the currents, cutting the water with vigorous strokes of leg. A breaker knocks him into her side. He grips her scruff and heaves her onto his back.

It is dark as the waves come forward, as he pulls her limp body upon the shore. Moonlight glitters over her soaking pelt.

“What now?” Judah hisses.

He dreads the answer.

in her stubborness, in her stupidity, a mass of water took advantage of her vulnerability and barreled towards racharra. the closer it got, the larger it loomed until eventually Tefnut swallowed Her child whole.

she couldn't hear nor see. she couldn't even move. she'd returned to her mother's womb, but without anyone else to bump up against. alone. she was going drown alone. it all fell dark, and racharra couldn't even get to give her final prayers.

air invades her body after she hacks out the water she was forced to swallow and litters a path. racharra stirs with a groan, her coughing fit ceasing as her concious is returned. only after does she realize that she wasn't the one walking. her own limbs tremble and fail to return her strength as they still reel from shock to be alive. golden eyes flittering around until they meet what was moving her. Nwt's light hangs overhead, and it takes racharra a moment to realize the features She highlights for the nebet's observation were that of another wolf. at some point, she even sniffs this body before realizing: a boy. a boy! she's alone with a boy! panic rushes through the lady like never before, and once limp limbs flail about.

unhand me! the dark, soaking body croaks out. she's unsure if he's her savior or her kidnapper yet, and she'd rather not take any further risks.

So fierce a command!

Judah’s eyes shoot open wide and he wrenches back, toppling onto one shoulder and kicking space between him and the girl. Once righted, he treads a half-circle around her, torn between an obligation to see that she’s alright and the persistent impulse to flee back up towards the safety of the thickets.

He does neither, instead silently plants his three feet into the sand with something like assertiveness, though there is no threat in his face, only bewilderment. Nose lowered, he attempts to scent this strange girl from a distance. There is little he can make of her in the lapping shadows, with only the moon's light to reveal her edges. But he sees how her eyes scintillate even in the dark. His own, like two mismatched planets, grip her's with a nervous focus.

tossed off him, or maybe she caused him to fall, racharra barely gets back up on her legs. instead, she slumps. the weight of her soaked mane alone is enough to drag her down, so she gives a shake of her pelt. it changed little, as beach sand insisted on clinging to her fur.

she clears her throat, about to speak until realizing the boy had said nothing. golden eyes meet silver and copper. he stands so low to her. not in a bow, but the same way beasts do. but he understood her when she'd demanded to be let go. the nebet stares at him, observes him. he's smaller than her from what the moon had allowed her to see. lanky, and he carried a strange gait. injured? or.. she is far too spoiled by Ra.

racharra lowers her head too, their planets aligning though she remains seated.
..thank you. the silence breaks if just for a moment. the gods observe.

The girl gives thanks and her voice is youthful. As she sits, Judah sinks back into his heels. How tall, and strong, nothing like mom or dad or the wolves he’d met on the dragoncrest coast. Had kinder judgment prevailed he may not have stared so wordlessly long. Behind him his tail flickers in thought. He’s done what he needed- the girl is drenched, but seemingly fine. She wont die out there in the waves. Still, his good conscience couldn’t leave her to shiver here all night in the open, where her coat would never dry.

For the first time he takes his eyes off her to regard the sea.

“Tide’s in. Won't be out til sun up.” Lack of use had contorted his voice, which tolls dry and nasally; odd even to his own ears. He pushes up and backs off a few steps, shifting in direction of the ravine.

Over his shoulder he grunts, in essence, an invitation for the girl to follow him.

he speaks! her brows raise as he does, neverminding how his voice was coarser than the sand.

ah.. is all she can muster though. her own gaze follows his, continuing their orbit. a flurry of emotions boil in her belly (for some reason. womanhood?) — he saved me! but i don't even know his name. and he's probably not from either of the moon tribes. he had hidden from her, he must've been the presence that haunted her steps in the isle.
racharra's quick to return to him after his grunt, and he offers her a part of the island she couldn't recall seeing berfore. hesitantly, she lifts herself from her seat but one last brief glance to the moon and the mainland hold her in place. i'll go in the morning.

he's quiet, but as the pair head to the ravine, racharra's curiosity gets the best of her. do you live here? a question with a pretty obvious answer, a corner of her lips tugs downwards and her brows knit in frustration. why did words have to fail her now!
..where are you from? the moon villages? son of a military captain, perchance? no.. too skinny. can i ask what is your name?

She talks a lot.

Her voice is deceptively light, despite her size. She asks funny questions, like if he’s from the moon. He flares his nostrils in snide retort. As if that’d be possible. She asks his name. He ignores that, too.

The boy maintains a healthy distance between himself and the girl, lurching aside anytime she gets too close. Turning his head, preoccupying himself with sniffing the dirt or a particularly compelling branch to feign indifference. But from the corner of his eye, only when he is convinced she is not watching, Judah steals curious glances. Suddenly he is hyper aware of his body, the irregularity of his stride. He carries himself with what he hopes looks like confidence. His tail levels straight like the length of an arrow behind him, but still he staggers as a just born fawn, cursing silently the mangled limb.

He traces back through the brush towards the island center. There the well-worn pathways run inland, up to a high, rocky prominence which in turn opens out to flowering hillsides. He won't step foot in the greenhill shelter, but this is where he leads the girl. It is the most protected place on the isle. She will be warm and safe here.

Their pace slows as they reach the windswept summit. The boy's head lifts. He stares idly into the denmouth. It's silent, stale, eerily devoid of life. His lungs are suddenly raw and the breath hitches in his throat. He clenches his jaws tightly to suppress the fall of tears. Now that his family is gone, it’s like they were never here at all.

He forces a swallow and steps aside, making room for the girl to enter.

he evades her questions, slick like the fish in the ocean, and all racharra can do is huff and puff over it. fine! she couldn't have his name, but his scoff at being from the moon tribes is enough to send a flash of disappointment. though, he's so far away from even moontide that it was silly to have asked.

instead he uses the language of beasts, despite clearly having learned speech. not as elegant as akashingo's but not as gruff and mangled as zharille's. his tail lifts like a black flag and while racharra understood its meaning she does not respond. not willingly. the instinctual part of her, however, liked the gesture maybe a little too much; her tail swings gently between her legs as if to fan out her lower half. that's the thing of beast language.. she can never forget nor suppress it.

flowers sway in the night breeze. while the wind lulls the flowers into a gentle dance, it errupts shivers through the girl — she can't possibly be sick! but the boy.. racharra also sneaks glances at him, and then his legs. it's only once the moonlight hits him on his left where she finally sees the cause of his staggering. a little gasp, rude as it may be — scarred, from battle? it's hard to imagine such a thin man getting into any kind of scuffle. even a playfight would've probably snapped him in half like a twig. it's out of courtesy for him that she looks away without a comment. it's none of her business as an intruder even when curiosity prods her.

suddenly, he's slows down, and racharra has to stop fixating on him. following his gaze, she sees the den. one final glance back at him, and she steps forward on her own. just barely could the hurt that ran through him, that bobbed his throat, be seen. the sight lingers with her as the nebet approaches the den. stepping inside, it's ordinary at first glance.

but racharra knows. she understands.

so gently she lowers herself. exhaustion returns, but she keeps her head perked. marigold eyes look out to him in silence — it'd be silly to ask him that. she lingers on his visage just a little longer before finally tearing herself away to ease her head.
imagining how he would look like under Ra's radiance.

His eyes waver between the girl and ground, determining that the safest place to land was somewhere in between. Each of her movements causes an anticipatory prickle down his spine. How long had it been since he’d shared space with another? So long that the hope of conversation was obsolete.

Yet he questions- what’s in her mind? Is she afraid? Is she comfortable here? His gaze goes to her as she lays, wondering. The air around the greenhills seems to tremble with disquiet. He waits for her to settle then edges away, bedding down in a patch of loam just outside. The hollow quiets, but when the wind howls against the denmouth it sounds like the wail of familiar ghosts.

“It’s Judah,” the boy speaks gently, lifting his eyes once more to look into the dimness. Without starlight to illuminate her, he sees nothing of the girl. Somehow, that is easier.

though she's lowered her crown, curiosity leads her to watching the boy as he paces around his own home. its only when their gazes meet again that racharra avoids it with a quick jerk of her head. she closes them, just for a moment, before his voice breaks the silence between them, and one more peek at him is stolen.

judah. she couldn't help but smile, and the nebet felt silly for it.
but the girl hesitates before extending her hand. she is still a lady, while not born from red sand she's learned to embrace it. normally she would have to introduce her title if the smell of desert alone wasn't enough of an entourage. had the ocean washed it away? if so, she'd have to take advantage.

i'm racharra. the girl says finally, closing her eyes. she didn't know when she had fallen asleep after this.

He’d seen her jerk away.

Did he smell? Or was his matted grey undercoat so unsightly? Or the strange shade of his eyes? Or more likely it was the ugly pull of skin as it twisted into a knot of purple scar tissue on the end of his arm. Judah tucks the leg out of view into the fur of his chest. The idea that he should feel ashamed of the mutilation has never before occurred to him, and now he can’t seem to shake it. 

But when the girl gives her name in return it is enough of a distraction from those glum thoughts. Racharra. Racharra.

The boy rounds his spine, swaddling his tail neatly over his legs and folding into a tight ball. This is the first night in many months that he is not alone. He spends it with Racharra.