Oystercatcher Tide Pools the old

with a soft ache in his paws from travel, seasmoke finally allows himself a few hours of respite. he sates his thirst and fills his belly with a seabird and a few crabs unfortunate enough to have been trapped when the high tide receded. to seasmoke, however, this is the Sea favoring him: leaving him needed resources as a show: that the Sea is always watching.

but there is a slight tang in the air beyond the sea brine that, coupled with the brewing of dark clouds over the sea in the horizon speak of a rainstorm.

it was always unpredictable, when storms roll off the sea to land, how tempered they would be. he gathers a few oysters from the tide pools and seeks shelter in land.

perhaps this, too, was a blessing.

an old, gnarled tree had fallen against its comrade in just the right way to provide shelter, a thick stripe of dry shadow under its looming trunk - that slavuj were too grateful for to ponder the precariousness of.

the bard laid beneath, head raised to watch the churning sea, tongue lolled out to gather the humidity stormy weather brought with itself.

while shelter lingered more on the sparse side of this coastal territory — and seasmoke himself wasn't horribly bothered by the oncoming storm: he decides to take it as a sign to take a rest.

though the territory itself bodes as little more than unfamiliar, seasmoke keeps his steps sure and confident; choosing to exude it. if the elders of the island were to believed, all paths led to the Sea; and as seasmoke had no real intentions of leaving the coast: didn't think a little jaunt in-land would take him too far away.

it is shelter he seeks when he comes across the strange looking ... thing; for lack of better word. ack—! he recoils sharply, oysters clattering together at his paws as he drops them. wha' da bleedin' hell?! because he has no word for what the beast was ... he only knows that it was a beast of some sort.

the bard threw his head back and laughed.

ha, sam' aes yeou! ai aem cousin tchu wolf, tchu coyot', bat maiself ai'm doug.

his heavy tail patted the earth by his side.

com' hir, sailor, plenty room! rainwatcher not aes pleasant aes seawathcher.

the seafarer knew of dogs, thinking of the corten line, specifically. in all fairness, seasmoke himself probably had some ( small ) percentage of domesticated canine in his blood ... but he'd never seen a canine looking like some sort of strange flora. though considering that the beast looked like any sort of flora was a stretch because seasmoke could not say he'd ever seen any sort of plant like the dog, either.

wha' happened tae yer fur? asks seasmoke, wondering if the growth and dreadlocked appearance was contagious; lacking tact and any sort of filter between his brain and his mouth ( likely why he's got those scars ).

a glimpse stolen towards the sea, noting that the dark clouds grew both thicker and closer. he hesitates for a moment before deciding this was the best offer of shelter he was likely to get. he gathers his oysters and ducks to join the dog. ye got a name?

kindness ouf motcher sea! he lied with a smile. ai aem fisher, sou deez lahvley tassels haelp me ketch ae meal. 

slavuj brushed the aforementioned aside, to demonstrate their thickness and weight.

kind mothcher, she makes suere her nightingale soun doesn't hunger.

which, mind yeau, he added with a head tilt and sweet squint of the visible eye. ies mai naem. slavuj, sailor. which wind brought'chu in?