Wheeling Gull Isle hike up your skirt a little more

His trip had taken longer than intended, but the earthstalker did not give it a second thought. The man had faith in the stormborn wolves; that they would not only survive but thrive in his absence — and he was right. As Komodo pressed his dark, leathered nose into the gritty beach sands, he was able to pull forth the dank scents of wolves new and old. The group had grown, in more ways than one. Good.

Komodo had not necessarily succeeded in his mission of locating the missing members, but he had not failed either. Word of King had reached his ears, that the young man had resettled with his family and its newest, youngest members — but that was it. After the storm, many had simply…vanished. Komodo could not find it within himself to blame them. He knew they were capable beings, fully able to take care of themselves and make the decision which would lead to their survival. With the understanding that all was fine, the medicine man took him time traversing the lands before making headway back to the island. His soul had hungered for the movement, so he indulged.

This was how he preferred it, really; the freedom to come and go. If was a pleasure that he had never been able to find within the confines or any particular rank or responsibility; his heart was an uncertain thing and even he could not predict its fleeting tendencies. 

Komodo initially strode across the beach and into the island’s heartland as freely as he would have a month ago, but he quickly resolved to backtrack and announce his presence at their doorstep. There were so many new members he did not know, and perhaps they did not know of him, and the man did not wish to disturb any careful balance that had been struck in his absence. It was the same argument that he had posed to Axolotl when they both sought leadership — where had he been during these times? Did the members even know him? Komodo was a man who practiced what he preached, and this was a prime example.

He did not call for anyone immediately, instead electing to sniff around the borders and grasp the current state of affairs in his pack. With the humidity that persisted even in the fall seasons, his scent was sure to carry and his presence would be known. No need to alarm the others with the shrillness of a call.

Some days were bad. Some days, the little shewolf could not even bring herself to leave the safety of her hideaway, where none had yet dared to trespass. (Small and weak she might be, but what mass she had was guarded with flashing teeth.) Some days she considered that she might never get off this island, might never escape the iron grip of the sea. Some days were bad, and the little shewolf felt very much like giving up.

And... some days were worse. Some days - like this one - found Doe without any memories at all. She became a blank slate with nothing but a name and an awful sense of mounting doom with which to stagger on. And these days were better, in some ways, because the despair that was always so close at hand seemed not as strong without the strange, confusing memories that went with it. They were better, and then they were infinitely worse. For, when she eventually came back to herself  (or, at least, to what she assumed must be herself), it was like being gutted. Like losing them all over again. Countless days, days just like this one, found Doe standing at the water's edge, screaming until her throat was raw - Where are my children? You have taken them from me! - and not a thing could be done to stop it.

But that would not be for many hours to come, and at present, Doe was as pleasant as she ever was when she caught sight of the strange man on Stockholm's island. (Who is Stockholm? whispered an anxious voice in the red woman's head, but Doe ignored it. It never had anything useful to say. Besides, who was to say that this male was not Stockholm? Doe could not put a face to the name any more than she could put a name to this man's face. Didn't that make a certain amount of sense?)

She digressed, shaking such thoughts from her head as a horse shakes bothersome flies from its eyes. Stockholm didn't look too unfriendly, and Doe was feeling rather inexplicably friendly herself. She crept doggedly toward the stranger, head hung low and tail whisking anxiously at her heels.

The man has never been a seawolf, but had found that his feet had moved eagerly and with alacrity towards the coast. There was much to enjoy on this island with his merry band of wolves, much to look forward to, and no real reason to stay away. His thoughts, for the most part, had regarded the two undersea females of ink and alabaster; both of which had captured his attention in wildly different ways. Aria, the girl of his present and @Coelacanth, the girl from of his past and present — where were they? Had his faith in the men of the island kept them both safe during his wayfaring fugue, as they had promised to do, been misplace? The two women were of his real concern,  even though he would not openly admit it.

His work here, on Wheeling Gull Island, wasn’t done. 

Komodo’s call was answered, but not by a face he recognized. The dusky stranger padded towards him and the earthstalker dipped his head in a casual greeting; showing her that he was no threat. Surely the scent of Undersea had left his pelage now and [unless the original stormborn wolves had done a bang-up job telling of his legacies] there was little to tell her that they were of the same allegiance. Surely most of the wolves who risked themselves and crossed the sea or sandbar had a good reason to be there — either way, Komodo loosened his stature a bit to show that, indeed, there was no need to be frightened.

She was small and somewhat scrawny; Komodo was immediately pleased that Undersea had continued to be a haven for those needing help or — maybe — a new start. In his cool contralto, Komodo greeted with a deep and succinct “Hey” and waited to gauge her reaction. She seemed nervous. 

Doe was nervous, but her other needs far outweighed her fear, that day. Starved for food as she was - and it showed, in the jutting lines of her ribs, and the sharp knobs of her ankles - she was even more starved for attention. Even though a tiny growl of anxiety bubbled up in her throat, she couldn't stop herself from inching closer to the strange male, russet-streaked tail fluttering against her hocks in friendly submission.

Please, please touch me, she wanted to say, but the words were locks away in the tightness of her throat. Her body was too wound up to allow for something as graceful as speech - even her light-footed steps seemed awkward and ungainly, especially when carried out by the fur-sheathed skeleton that made up her body. And besides, even with the ravening state of her mind, she knew that please, please touch me was not something that ought to be said to strangers.

Instead, she tried to echo his greeting back to him.

"H- h- "

She scuttled back a step or two, startled by the unfamiliar sound of her own voice.

It wasn’t until the girl crawled closer that he realized how scrawny she was. Closer and closer she came, and Komodo felt his jaw tighten and molars grit together. At first, he was struck with the discomforting idea that there had been some famine upon the island — that he had left his wolves to starve — but indeed her scent was new, and surely her woes happened before her coming to Undersea. Coelacanth, the little healer, wouldn’t have let a wolf under her jurisdiction deteriorate to this state… would she?

The earthstalker wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the woman’s display, but there was an emotion that ignited in his gut and licked hotly at the pit of his throat. Empathy. Komodo didn’t know what had happened, but he didn’t have to know;  hell, he had been there himself, and instead of knowing he simply wanted to heal her every hurt. The woman seemed so small, so fragile and frail — in need of the gods’ protection.

He, and undersea… but mostly he had the tools to make her whole once more. 

The ghost uttered single sounds, soft and breathy, but could not form words. Golden ears craned forward, hoping to capture any utterance but failing.  Komodo’s jaw loosened and he allowed his large frame to sit upon the sodden earth, hoping that he may not appear as intimidating as others claimed. Perhaps it was unnecessary, she was the one to approach him, after all.

Komodo kept his mien bright, alert and engaged, but said nothing.

When the male still seemed receptive to her company, the whipping of her tail picked up to an almost frenzied pace. Any moment, he could grow tired of this game, and although Doe was not at all sure what she wanted from this encounter, she knew that she definitely didn't want it to end - not just yet, at least.

Comforted by his steadfast presence and - therefore - emboldened, she came a bit closer once more and tried again:

"H- he- " Her throat would still not cooperate with her. She swallowed back against the lump that stopped her words and - nearly choking - swallowed again. "Help." Yellow eyes widened comically in surprise. She'd meant to greet him, but - "Help. Help me." There it was again. The words were soft and raspy, but undeniable in their meaning. Her breath came a bit faster.

"Please help," she said, a bit more clearly this time, and with a pleading edge to her voice. She didn't know what she needed help with, but she was sure that she needed it. Something had to stop this feeling of impending doom within her. There had to be some cure to the endless cycles of fear and hysteria. Someone had to be able to rescue her, to pluck her out of the sea where she could do no more than tread water and desperately try to keep her head above the waves.

help?

There was little that could surprise the earthstalker, but that was one of them. The woman’s feeble voice grasped after the word as if it was her own breath, and during her repetitions Komodo found himself craning closer and closer, not certain that he was hearing her correctly. His ears fluttered against the sound of her plea, utterly speechless, but the tiny lady gained confidence and turned her demand into a request. How could he not oblige?

Komodo backpedaled a step, as if to get a better look at the russet stranger. He ticked his chin down several degrees and regarded her hotly, his gaze seeking [in earnest] the information his mouth could not yet request. Perhaps it was not the right moment to analyze the vulnerable woman— he had always the soft spot for broken things, in need of healing — but he was struck with an ominous sense of forboding of the whole thing. Why was the first wolf to greet him upon a foreign, feral and starving thing? Where were the others? Had his trust in his council been misplaced?

There was an uncertainty to the whole thing that Komodo could not surrender himself to. When it struck, it struck hard.

Komodo blinked slowly, releasing the grit of his teeth. “I will,” he gruffed in his roughhewn tone. The few paces he had put between them were recovered as he took several steps closer,  in a manner that was ginger and querying — yet there was a power to it that suggested his taking control of the situation. “Who did this t’yuh?” he prompted, hungering for the answer.

He would not stand for wolves who could not take care of their own.

The male came closer. Doe did not try to stop herself from sinking into his nearness. Her body grew more hunched and compact, but at the same time seemed to relax and unwind. Someone else was in charge, all of the sudden. A heavy yoke was suddenly lifted from the shewolf's shoulders, and she revelled in its absence with a half-mad breath of laughter. But he was asking her questions, and the way the answers evaded her caused her to tense up once more.

"She did," she said softly, respressively. This was the correct response, she knew, even if the woman could not put a name to this mysterious She. "She... she took them from me," the woman went on, her eyes clouding. Something else threatened to take over - something looming and ominous - but Doe fought back against it, shoving the reigns toward Stockholm once more.

"Please," she whimpered, pressing herself physically against him, still huddled and small.

 Komodo’s head nodded at her response, as if he understood implicitly; he really understood nothing, but he accepted and respected that fact. Clearly this shivering, jaunty woman had seen some shit, things he could never see in his entire life, and those experiences were uniquely her own. Even if she could verbalize her troubles, he would never, truly understand. No one ever could. Komodo could only do as he did with all his patients: empathize, compartmentalize and hope the gods answered his prayers. 

The angukkuq closed the distance between them, pulling up alongside her small form and shielding her with his own. Komodo was a tactile wolf and believed touch to be a divine thing — herbs and spells had their place in healing, but much of a wolf’s suffering was simply a mental or energetic disruption and an honest connection could work miracle. A grumble formed deep in his chest, demonstrating the protectiveness he suddenly felt towards the tiny woman. Nothing should have to live a life of fear, and those responsible would pay heartily. “Show me,” he commanded, figuring that he could do nothing with the information he had been given. His tone noted that this request was something to be taken seriously — though the mottled brute could not even begin to guess what he would be shown; if she had anything to show.

The man's words made as little sense to Doe as her words made to him. She stared at him rather helplessly as he drew closer, only seeming to realize that he'd moved at all when their furs were suddenly mingling, and the heady, foreign scent of him was in her nares. This is not Stockholm, she realized, but aside from that, she had no idea who he was.

Still, her eyes fluttered shut, and she loosed a pained whine that spoke more of her emotion than words ever could. Feeling comforted by his presence, she folded herself into him - under him, nearly - and tried not to think.

The world seemed... not brighter, perhaps. But smaller. Easier. Doable.