Wheeling Gull Isle young blood, gotta pull the trigger

There were few greater upsets in her life than being seperated from the Sea. The storm had cost them—Akantha was noticably leaner, which was a feat for the normally burly she-wolf, and she knew the others were certainly feeling the effects of their prolonged ordeal as well. They could no longer afford to linger idly by and wait for an oppertunity to present itself. The Sea reared her to be the boldest and bravest, and to provide the others a veritable bastion of meat and fur against anything that would harm them. It was her single most important duty.

So today she struck out down the shoreline of Sea Lion Shore in search of the sandy spit that she'd spotted a few weeks prior during her conversation with Cathenna. A curious thing it'd been, but the waning hour hadn't given her the time she desired to explore the oppertunity further. But now the sun was barely peaking above the eastern horizon and the long fingers of night still stretched languidly from the base of the sheer cliffs, enveloping the sea (and Akantha herself) in a blanket of darkness. 

The tide was out when she reached the spit and she strode confidently out onto the reach. Crabs skuttled out of reach as she passed, but she paid them no mind. So single-minded was her mission that she hardly gave the gnawing pit of her stomach any heed. She trod on, ignoring the waves as they rolled up and over the bridge—the ice-cold water swirled around her ankles and she smiled at the deftness of her paws as they pressed into the sodden sand. This was where they belonged, with the embrace of the ocean around their legs, and the kiss of salt upon their pelt.

Akantha soon reached the Isle and clambered up the rocks. A few gulls shrieked out warnings as she passed, but she simply waved her tail at them dismissively. What could they do to her? She lived and breathed the Sea. They could only hope to scavenge the leavings she deposited on the shore whereas she could partake in the prizes that She offered her most beloved children. Her smile grew—a dense woodland opened up before her, the shadows reaching out to greet their long-lost daughter. 

She stood upon the threshold of Wheeling Gull Isle as a rare grin broke across her lips.

The land warmed, rousing the sluggish pulse of the Wilds, pushing them along to the flourishes of spring. He could feel it with each extra minute the sun hovered above the horizon each day. It made him smile. One might think a creature of the night would enjoy the darkness of winter nights. But on the contrary; Athanasius loved summer. Summer meant life, it meant food, it meant satiation for the hungry strigoi. There was no better time to hunt than summer.

Athan led his baietel, @Mazatl, back to the shore where they had met. He was not sure why he was constantly drawn back to this part of the Wilds, having not been raised by the ocean. It was not the first time he saw the great waters that provided the far western border — far from it. But it seemed that many a wolf was drawn to this part of the Wilds. He had a feeling that there were other pockets of packs packed densely in one region or another, but the ocean kept calling him back with its siren song (rudely interpersed with seagull cries).

He kept finding new things about the shore to enjoy and behold: the island for one. He peered out at its lonely sentinel post, then to Mazatl. With a small smirk, the strigoi began wading into the water, knowing that Mazatl would follow wherever he went. The swim to the isle's shores were not perilous — at least not for him — though he kept a close eye on his baietel, making sure he was safe.

Eventually his paws found solid ground, pulling himself onto shore. When Mazatl was safely on the shore, he lapped the deer-framed wolf's head gently, trying his best to dry him while simultaneously scanning the sand around them. His amethyst eyes settled on a dark, feminine figure in the distance, smirking slightly before leaning to Mazatl's ear. We are not alone, cel mai drag, He murmured before giving him another lick, his eyes focusing on the lone figure a few lengths away from

Mind if we change the location to Blackwater Islands if it's not too much trouble for you? Change of plans for the Nereides. :P

Akantha regarded the rocky crags of the island with a spark of hope in her eyes, and a fire alight in her heart once more. They could thrive here away from the land, surrounded by the Sea, and secluded from the judgement of the outsiders. Her ears cupped as a seagull swooped low overhead and settled among the higher rocks where a few peeps told her of the family that he'd nestled in the cliffs away from the harsh winds. She waved her tail as she watched him offer up morsels to the tiny chicks, pleased to see life thriving here. It inspired her.

But the wind shifted and, with it, came the musky scent of another—no, two distinct scents. Both male.

Akantha turned, hackles rippling down her spine as she locked eyes with the first in line. A rumble began deep in the pits of her stomach, rolling around in her lungs, before vibrating out her throat as a very pointed warning. Her tail raised high behind her rump and quivered with the effort of keeping it elevated to such extreme heights. She hadn't officially claimed this area as her own, and her Sisters were not here to back up her position, but she was in no mind to yield to two strange males.

"Come closer and I will bleed you." she growled across the distance between them. Sizeable for now, but she did not like this feeling; she was vunerable, and outnumbered. She flashed her teeth to prove her point. "What do you want?" She shouted over the din of the waves.

That's fine!

He continues grooming the young boy, gently using his teeth to remove stray bits of seaweed and other flotsam and jetsam from his pelt, murmuring half coherent words as he stole glances at the woman. He paused at her rapid anger, curious as to why she was so hostile. This land was not marked, was it? His nostrils flared as he tasted the air, searching for any other signs of wolf scent other than their own. 

He chuckles at her choice of words, the irony only reserved for him and @Mazatl. Dacă ceva, că voi fi o sângerare vă. He smirks to himself, knowing that Mazatl doesn't know enough of his tongue to understand. The man reluctantly pulls his head away from his deer-like sclav, raising his voice to the woman. We were merely curious about the island, He says, still wondering about her malice. Why, do you own this island?

The other boy does not speak. He stands idly by as the other, the black and white beast, grooms him. Even that is an affront to Akantha, who lives with the mark of the sea on her coat as a badge of honor, but she does not expect the strangers to understand. Her own fur is salt-flecked, and kissed with grains of sand and seaweed. She never made to remove them, but did not pretend to enjoy garlands of seaweed wrapped around her ankles and neck as Aktaie the first once did. A stiff-legged stance is all that keeps her from crossing the gap and driving her teeth into flesh. 

Her ears quiver at the unfamiliar language and she bares her teeth at the offense. Her eyes narrow and she stares, trying to convey the sheer amount of disquiet she feels at their presence. "Yes." She snips, "Ask your questions, and get out." Akantha growls again, and waves her tail slowly. You are testing my patience... 

He is unfazed by her posturing, despite her size and seeming experience. He never saw the ideal in an island pack; you wouldn't know if anyone was inhabiting it until it was too late and you were jumped upon. He just saw it as an excuse to fight, which this woman seemed to obviously display. She clearly wanted them off and away from the borders as soon as possible. Athan made sure he delayed that moment as much as possible.

Is it just you on the island? He asked her, shifting his body so it further enwrapped Mazatl in his grasp. Or do you have a pack waiting to slaughter us if we go further inland? He looked towards the forest with more curiosity than fear, his eyebrows raised quizzically. How long have you been here? He said this all deadpan and completely genuine, though he was chuckling internally at his playing devil's advocate

Akantha is a literal crab. Clack-clack. (sorry for her 'tude!)

The more he hesitated and drew out the moment, the more she wanted to lay into them both. But she knew better. To pick and choose battles was something she didn't want to take for granted if the moment offered it. So she remained steadfast, but motionless, eyeing them both with a cutting glare. 

When he glances toward the forest, he blood runs hot, and she draws her teeth back to let loose a gutteral snarl. She didn't like his curiousity; like a fox eyeing up a nest full of chicks. "No. Yes. A week." She answers in a clipped staccato. "My turn: who are you?"

More like this:

He cannot see any sign of life within the forest, other than the woman before him, snarling at him from a distance. He amuses himself on her, and for the moment he believes she would be stupid enough to let him keep playing until she attacked him, or simply stormed away. Her quick, stacatto answers made a wry, cruel smile slide across his face, his visage smug as she finally turned the question on him. A strigoi,

Ahaha!

"I am doing you the express favor of speaking in the common tongue." She replied cooly with another agitated sweep of her tail. The word was entirely foreign to her, and served no obvious purpose other than to agitate her further. This encounter was a shining example as to why their teachings were so important. Men were useless, more concerned with fluffing up their own ego and striding around like rulers of the world than offering any sort of contribution to it. "κάτω τροφοδότη." Akantha retorted, her own expression making a mockery of his own smugness with a creeping smirk of her own. "See, I can do it too." 

Perhaps it was childish. But her patience was worn thin. "Get out. Go back to the mainland with your boy." She spoke with finality, promising violence should he refuse.

She didn't take his foreign word so lightly, being filled with disgust and annoyance at the mere utterance of a non-common word. The fact of the matter is the truth of this word hurts too much, It hurt more for the other than it did for him; he was proud of his status and the power it brought. But one did not always walk about flaunting one's power. I was doing you the favor of being both honest and keeping our conversation at this same level of civility,

He smirked, a low chuckle filling his throat as he recognized the Greek she used. He was far from fluent, but he knew the sound of the language well enough. His eyebrows raised in mock surprise as she proudly mocked him. Good girl! Are there any other tricks you've been taught? He said without an audible laugh, but his eyes danced with the same cruel mirth all the same. 

Athan bowed his head to the woman, his eyes glancing off to the sea nearby. Is it the right tide for us to make our return? I admit I know not.

Akantha didn't like the answer, but she probably wouldn't have liked it regardless. The fact of the matter was: she was soured on them, and no amount of diplomacy was going to salvage it. Akantha was a petty creature, at times, indicated by her rising to the bait and mocking him for his language with her own cruel insult. She was not a serene Siren; she was a tumultuous storm. 

The furrows of her brows deepened, and she spared a glance towards the sandbar. It was still fully exposed, though the tide was creeping further and further towards the crest. Within an hour, it would be gone again. Her gaze shot back to his and she nodded. "Yes. On that I give you my word. It is the only kindness I will offer you." The Sea does not deserve your bones. 

Akantha motioned to it and waited, unwilling to bend until he (and his boy) was long out of her sight.

With a smile, Athan nods towards the woman, his body rising. He nudges Mazatl along, murmuring to him softly  as his paws are swallowed up once more by the salty waters. He turns to the woman once more, smirking smugly. It was nice speaking to you, He says before striding across the bank, his gait simultaneously hurried and casual as they walked towards the mainland once more.

Akantha didn't bother with a reply and stood there stiffly—defiantly, until the pair were well across the sandbar and out of sight. Only then did she whirl in a burst of frustration and set about marking the nearest thing she came to. She did this, stopping every one-hundred feet or so to mark another spot and waft her scent across the island until she collapsed upon a rock, spent. Akantha surveyed the shoreline of Ankyra Sound until she could no longer hold her eyes open, and drifted off into a fitful slumber.