Stavanger Bay i've been trying to fix my pride

if a wild @Coelacanth has time! Backdated a bit to before the move and after the thread with Arturo.

Hemlock moved from Teaghlaigh with the intent of keeping her scent from theirs. She would move independently, for the time being, but hover nearby - she could not stray too far. She went towards the bay with the intent of washing herself, allowing the scent of the salty brine to mask anything else. It would be good, too, for the still healing scars that crossed her pelt in angry lashes. They would be moving. Her heart stopped every time she thought the words, every time she considered them. She swallowed the lump in her throat and pressed on, eyes fixated on the task at hand of cleansing herself before she decided on her next course of action.

She could try and find out more about the wolves of the Blackfeather Woods; although she wasn't too keen to kick the hornets nest, so to say. She could start to gather what herbs she could find that might not be so bountiful further inland. That would be no easy task either, it was barely spring, the world was still waking from it's great slumber. She would not be deterred though, from finding herself a useful task and setting to it. She had much to do to earn her place among the Family again. 

NOTE: In Coelacanth’s personal timeline, this takes place the morning after this thread.

Tagging for reference! Feel free to have Komodo follow her if you want to. ♥

Bone-weary and lovelorn, the little Groenendael awoke the following morning in a miasma of heartache and physical discomfort. A fine dusting of soft, almond-colored sand clung grittily to her atramentous fur, the feathers of which had been whittled into a mantle of salt-encrusted spines. Tender lips pursed in a moue of distaste as she rose and vigorously shook herself from tip to tail, tufted ears flapping audibly as the shimmering granules danced about her like the contents of a violently agitated snow globe. Only a freshwater bath could possibly satisfy her fastidious desire to groom and preen, and she cast her sights longingly upon the faraway shore before glancing guiltily toward the Earthstalker’s sleeping silhouette. She was hesitant to rouse her erstwhile protector, but she nosed at him nonetheless with a frail, breathlike touch. When @Komodo did not immediately spring to attention, she found herself greatly relieved.

Neptune eyes scanned the horizon and clocked the position of the sun, and once the stray was satisfied that she still had a good few hours of low tide ahead of her, she stretched her tiny, gamine framework into a grand jeté and darted across the land bridge with fluid alacrity. At the very last moment, though, the sheepdog bounded headlong into a pocket of deeper water, creating a terrifically satisfying splash.

Being reunited with the shaman who had granted her father’s pack such aid had bolstered Coelacanth’s flagging spirit, and although she still bore the abuse of winter in the fiercely jutting angles of her hips, spine, and ribs, she had energy enough to gambol and frolic in the ocean she loved, drawing strength from its cleansing touch. The wounded, desolate look in her limpid cerulean eyes contrasted sharply with the animated twists and turns of her balletic musculature, but a cerise flicker in the distance soon drew her attention and encapsulated her in a waiting stillness. Now the depth of her hurt was made plain; she watched Hemlock with the wary, hangdog countenance of a sensitive dog with heavy-handed captors.

At long last, something clicked for the inky ingénue. “I know you,” bespoke the feeble wave of her feathered tail, blurring cobalt beneath the shallows. No words had been exchanged the last time Seelie had come across the fire-kissed female, but she sought to conjure an answering sense of acknowledgment from the viridian-eyed dryad by recreating their ill-fated first meeting: she whuffed softly, tufted ears nestling demurely against her crown, and made herself small before the paprika-furred healer.

For a moment the woman watched the waves as they rose and crashed on the shore, angry and vengeful. These were the isles of the fallen gods, those who longed for a greatness that could not be contained. Those sharks and krakens, the leviathans of the deep, they were gone. Fallen, like the druids of the forest, and everything had fallen to pieces in her absence. Perhaps the good that Palisander was had kept the horrors of the world at bay. Now it was an upcoming war, a violent promise of the horrors to come, it would be fleeing in the night to gain the freedom to raise the next generation of the Family in relative safety. 

Hemlock had begun towards the sea both to claim her coat in salt and brine and equal parts to drag some seaweed back to Teaghlaigh. Perhaps she could stuff her cougar skull like some crude cache and bring it along - just in case - a sound caught her attention and she froze, body tensing as another figure approached. Clearly, this creature was far more at home in the sand than she was, each step seeming to cause her some difficulty. Hemlock watched her for a moment before recognition flashed between them; however she couldn't remember who she was or where they'd met before. No doubt some random notions in her travels, or a memory lost to the concussion from the Dragon wolf. 

Still, Hemlock offered a nod, her body relaxing a bit as she looked to the dark female and her svelte self. "Hello," She offered, though Hemlock was uncertain of what she was doing; everything seemed so...so undone to her now. The entire world had changed, and she was struggling to adapt to the notion of those changes. 

“Hello,” offered the bourbon-laced wise woman, and Coelacanth’s tufted ears swept forward upon her skull at the low, feminine voice. An answering croon trembled in her throat as she emerged fully from the ocean shallows and whuffed a second time, a faint mist of saline fanning from her finely tapered snout. Neptune eyes danced skittishly awry as she crept nearer, her feathered tail heavy with seawater but waving gently just the same. The omnipresent, tensile energy that defined the tiny Groenendael hummed a dissonant chord as she came to a halt a few feet away from the viridian-eyed dryad, and she perceived what she thought was a certain disquiet though she could not glean its cause. Without the benefit of the brine, Seelie discerned that the woman had come from Teaghlaigh; Arturo’s scent was faint and bitterly troubled.

Not for the first time, Coelacanth recalled Arturo’s fury and compared it to her first impression of him — laughing gently at Chusi, his fiery eyes finding the soot-stockinged bard again and again. The contrast was so great! She lumped him in the same category as Szymon — unpredictable — for she did not know his true nature and had been robbed of his gentlemanly façade. “Is something wrong?” bespoke the inquisitive tilt of her head and the airy, toneless whisper-whine that withered upon her lips. “Can I help you?”

Komodo had awoken alone, and that displeased him.

At his worst, the medicine man was materialistic — but at his best, this quality transposed itself into a curious sense of devoutness. Komodo liked things, his things, and he liked to collect his trinkets. It was part of the reason the shaman had dedicated his time and endless frustrations to drying the skins of animals and fashioning a small pouch to wear about his neck; to keep his favorite treasures with him at all times. The man exalted the trinkets for the power they held and their ability to channel the wills of the spirits, he liked the consistency of their nearness [even if his vagrant paws made for inconsistencies elsewhere] — and Komodo didn’t like when they slipped from his grasp. 

The sheepdog was not a thing but a living, breathing being…  but when he awoke with a start and found himself unaccompanied, the brute felt the same flicker of avarice within his chest. Without much thought, Komodo heaved his corded frame from the sands and picked his way across the sandbridge just as the waters of the rising tide began to sluice over the elevation. When his weathered feet found the mainland, it did not take him long to pinpoint Coelacanth’s location — the scent was strong, and the inkjet pelt of the girl and the russet pelt of her companion stood out starkly against the blue backdrop of the morning. The man made his approach confidently, hoping the loudness of his footfalls would be the harbinger of his arrival.

Komodo didn’t pause to think about why she had left, writing it off as a simple miscommunication [and when trying to engage with a mute, miscommunications were often] — thus, when he was mere steps outside of his final destination, he heralded with a chuff. ”Where’re you off to, speedy gonzales?” he said thickly, eyes flashing as if to say found you. Briefly, he turned his attention from the inky girl to the red woman. ”Morning,” the earthstalker greeted, offering a trunacted dip of his sculpted maw before settling back on Coelacanth and waiting her silent answer.

The sounds provided were enough that Hemlock could at least get an idea of what the woman was meaning; words were not the only language in the world after all. Hemlock gave a little nod towards the ocean, about to explain that she was going to dredge up some seaweed when another voice approached her. Perhaps she'd been too focused on the dark female, enough that she did not directly realize the approach of the stranger. She turned, hackles up in shock, and her ears flicked back. 

There was disdain in her when it came to most strangers - males especially - and so she tensed. Yet the inky canine seemed familiar with him enough that he addressed her with familiarity. She turned back to look at the other female expectantly; was this a companion? A lover? She could not remember such a thing when they'd met before, but that was so many months ago. "Good morning." It was provided a bit more curtly as she began to approach the ocean. The water rushed up as if to meet her, and while Hemlock had never felt at home on the shores at least it was not angry and lashing at her - she could handle this. 

A moment later she was up to the middle of her legs in the brine, the cold water making her shiver. If he came at her, she'd be just as uneasy as he no doubt. "Are you staying near here?" She asked, looking over at Coelacanth - wondering if she did have a specific home or if she wandered where the world cared to take her. 

Excuse Islock! I've actually wanted a thread with her and Komodo :3

Coelacanth followed the fiery female’s virescent gaze to the ocean, and her Neptune eyes twinkled keenly with understanding. Although she had just emerged from the wintry depths, she executed a sprightly pirouette and danced eagerly back toward them, her feathered tail tracing serpentine swirls in the air. Her damp fur had settled into a collection of finely drawn quills, beads of saline dripping at random from their tips, but once it hit the shallows her aphotic pelage turned to ink. She regarded Komodo the way a guilty child might, her tufted ears falling back as she lifted one catlike paw entreatingly above the water’s surface.

In a short space of time, she was asked two questions: “Where are you going?” and “Where are you staying?” Each of them brought its own brand of sorrow, and she realized that even if she’d had a voice at her disposal, she might not have been able to answer clearly. She glanced around at the bay with a familiar, melancholic eye, and nodded grimly at her surroundings. This had been her home. It would have been easy to lead them to the den where Isengrim, Julep, and Moorhen had stayed; the answers would be clear to them if they followed their noses. She couldn’t bring herself to go back there and look at the empty den, though. It was bad enough to stand here and not see Doe — Doe, with her one flopped over ear; Doe, singing songs that nobody else knew the words to; Doe, calling out joyfully, “Shadow, Shadow!” — and so she caught Hemlock’s eye with a bashful tip of her head, then thrust her muzzle in an eloquent sweep toward the island.

Komodo’s question was harder to answer, because her initial desire had changed. Her intention had been to have a bath in the swell of the river she drew such solace and strength from, but seeing Hemlock had altered her course in an irrevocable way. She wanted to stay here and spend time with the pretty almost-acquaintance. Involuntarily she glanced inland, toward her original destination, but her revised answer was in the way she edged closer to Hemlock and then darted toward Komodo with a muted splash. She crossed the distance between herself and the angakkuq with characteristic timorousness, sliding the bridge of her muzzle along the line of his lower jaw with the grace of a violinist’s bow, and the airy whine that spilled from her throat was as apologetic as she could make it. She was very sorry to have left him — but she was even more delighted to see him! Her tail whirred like a helicopter rotor behind her as she sidestepped daintily back toward Hemlock and then crashed inelegantly into the shallows, paddling circles in the chilly water.

I wanted one too!

Coelacanth responded to his reappearance just as she faced most things: at first with a sense of fear, then with sweeping movements and a burst of energy. A contented rumble escaped his chest as the fine tapered maw rubbed against his own, thickset and stout – unsmiling as he was, his demeanor spoke that there was nothing to be sorry for. She was a free woman [an adult, young lady now!] and had the liberty to do whatever she pleased, just as he was wont to do. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t use his own freedom to follow her, though.

“Hm,” he grunted as she danced back to meet the red woman in the methodical tide. He cavorting sent up curtains of water; sheets that managed to rocket upwards to make impact with his unsuspecting face. The water was cold – perhaps the last vestige of the long-abated winter season – and he tried to shake and blink away the sudden onslaught of brine.  When his vision cleared, the earthstalker realized that he was the only one who wasn’t partaking in a swim, so he took several steps towards the waters until he was wading nearly a foot deep into the sea . He glanced from Coelacanth to Red, trying to scry from their faces whether or not his advances on their meeting was welcome or not. He didn’t want to infringe on their meeting, but his movement into the waters was more of a motion to establish himself as a permanent fixture in their conversation [albeit one-sided as it was], rather than to enjoy a nice swim.

He regarded Red, letting his eye drift over her frame as would any wolf meeting someone for the first time, but there was a certain strength in his unabashed gaze that read wild. A pretty little thing, she was – and the juxtaposition of the sheepdog’s dark plumage to the nameless woman’s russet blanket was, if anything, quite appealing to his discerning eye. ”Looks like you have a story,” he began, punctuating his statement with a distinctive notch of one eyebrow.  She was littered with scars – he considered such things badges of honor, the teller of stories, and he couldn’t help but let his barefaced curiosity take hold.

Hemlock's brow furrowed for a moment as she watched this unknown stranger; well, it wasn't as if they'd never met before, but she still didn't have a name for the beautiful dark wolfdog. She seemed to tell a story all her own though, eyes passing solemnly across the lands as if she was familiar with them. Once upon a time, there had been so many more there. Now, the empire crumbled. Teaghlaigh was the last remaining holder of it's legacy, since she knew that Arturo had called this place home for awhile, as well. 

The woman seemed far more familiar with the male and Hemlock swallowed back a snort when he made it known she had a story. "I have several." She said, tight lipped because she didn't know him, and as such, he was not privy to the details of her life. When she'd met the dark wolf she had been Isley, and now, she'd shed that name and buried it with her husband in the forest nearby. "Today my tale involves gathering seaweed. I serve as a healer." She offered simply. 

It wasn't much of an olive branch, Hemlock had never considered herself one who dealt in peace. Instead it was a simple way to return her to her task; if they wanted to come along and play in the bitter waters then she wouldn't stop them. It seemed the dark woman had no problems in the sea and her antics brought a soft, if brief, smile to Hemlock's face.

@Komodo, tagging only because it has been awhile ♥

It seemed to Coelacanth a splendid coincidence that all three of the wolves present were enamored of the healing arts. She had it in her head that healing was part of her calling — a notion that had initially sprung from Kirynnae and Komodo’s successful joint efforts to rehabilitate her grandfather. The desire had died down a little when she’d arrived in the Teekons, as most of her energy had been spent on trying to locate Amoxtli; but meeting and befriending Doe had rekindled it. She didn’t honestly know a whole lot about medicine except for wound care, being hard pressed to find a tutor when she couldn’t even ask questions.

Even “gathering seaweed” was a learning experience for the diminutive creature; there were various kinds of seaweed that littered the shore. She circled back to Hemlock and, with water streaming from her fur like living ink, tipped her head to the side in what she hoped was eloquent entreaty. Please teach me! Unable to keep still, she dashed away long enough to return with a clump of brown seaweed. This she placed at Hemlock’s paws, Neptune eyes casting about until she spotted a few strands of green kelp. She ran off to collect this, too, and laid it precisely beside the first. Then, her bright cerulean eyes fixed upon the fiery-furred wise woman with a sheepdog’s vivid intensity. Which one? Did it even matter?

It took no time before the others were as involved in her task as she was. The silky dark female seemed especially enthusiastic, and so at home with the waters that Hemlock was envious. "You are skillful," She mused with a smile, reaching out to nudge the woman she brought another bundle of seaweed. Hemlock took her time to gather them as well, and once they'd had a small pile she pulled them further up onto the shore. "Did you know these can be used for almost everything?" She asked - not waiting for an answer either from her quiet companion nor the male that had followed her. 

"They will help with swelling, and also help most organs function." She spoke without being pretentious, sharing knowledge among others who enjoyed the healing arts was just a common thread that most would enjoy. "We could gather enough to split - to take back to ours homes." She suggested before they spent the better part of the day gathering seaweed. When she returned to the forest she felt good for her efforts, unaware how quickly things would change in her home - and even how it would involve the quiet beauty she'd spent her day with.