Sequoia Coast ﹙ꕥ﹚Called to the Devil and the Devil did come

Setting Details: Dusk, clear skies with healthy breezes. Northern edge of the coastline.

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The sand shifted beneath her steps, growing more firm as the she-wolf moved closer to the body of water to her right. Greedily, the briny surf would chase along Sequoia Coast's banks, rushing across the woman's pale paws before the pendulum would swing and the counter-motion would drag the tow back into itself. Sorcha found the motions hypnotic in a way, the looping soundtrack of sea birds overhead puncturing the sway of the tide.

She felt a sense of peace that had not always accompanied her on her voyage away from her natal pack's lands. Her venture had found her cold some nights and hungry others - sometimes both all at once - but in the gathering dusk and its bright display of vibrant colors, she enjoyed the final vestiges of warmth offered by the sun as it drifted lower in the sky. Its fiery shape bled into the darkening waters, cutting slices of molten light across the crest of each wave. Sorcha pressed into the water's berth as it foamed around her ankles then knees, sinking further until her shoulders were battered by it and she could feel the resistance against each slow step. The waterlogged sands squished between her toes, swirling and disturbing the tiny lifeforms who called the shallow waters home.

Sorcha admired the play of light and colors stretched all around her, feeling strangely grounded even as she shoved off from the soft sands and angled into the waves. The water was a respite from the summer heat, but she knew dangers lurked in its depths - she would not venture too far. Her swimming ability was not poor, but she was far from experienced in the ways of the sea. Lakes and smaller, more contained bodies of water were her comfort zone, but... she craved novelties.

it was dusk by the time sobeille left the islands and carved up the coast. rosy clouds mutely moved across a canvas of lavender, the color not unlike the weeping sweetness of chicory bloom on an overcast day.

sobeille walked with the waves to her right, eyes adjusting the the settling light. ahead a silhouette breasted the waves — from a distance, she could not see features, only shapes.

sobeille drew close, but did not announce herself — all it would take would be the wolf to look behind her to know she was not alone.

Weightlessness possessed her as she surrendered to the waves, her lungs filling with air to keep her buoyant. Her blond and white frame bobbed amid the waves for a time as she paddled, slender limbs propelling her at a pace that was deliberately slow. Sorcha had no interest in delving into the open sea quite yet, but she enjoyed the precipice of freedom as she lingered so close to safety, keeping certain rescue at hand if the waves showed desire to swallow her up.

As her confidence grew, she relaxed; the woman allowed the tension of uncertainty to melt from her muscles as she handed over agency to the universe at large. She trusted it to deliver her where she ought to be, and on this eve, it appeared to have something curious in store for her.

Sorcha's eyes followed the trajectory of a sea bird as it soared overhead, a fish clutched in its taloned feet. It headed for shore with its prize and, as her gaze landed on the beach she had left behind, she took note of a figure. She grew more alert, analyzing the dark and not-so-distant other. They had not been there when she disembarked from the water's edge, but they were now.

For a beat, she did not call out to them or take her eyes off them - clearly sizing them up and gauging her risks. "Hello," she cast her voice to them, an Irish lilt accompanying it. Would they be friend or foe?

a large seabird arced its fierce wings, soaring overhead with a struggling fish in its claws. sobeille’s gaze turned back to the figure, realizing that she had been noticed.

a voice called over the surf. it held a tinge to it sobeille did not recognize. she pulled closer, now standing upon the dampened swash-line. hello. she returned back, gaze flicking to the sea beyond them. de water nice?

a vulgar thought came to her then and she was moved to act on it — but the stranger was just out of reach. sobeille had learned to be careful these last few months; exacting, even, in her attempts. the risk here outweighed the reward, and so sobeille left the swimming wolf to their own devices, wondering if they knew what malevolence they’d only narrowly avoided.