Sea Lion Shores water in my lungs

For @Æthelwulff!

The coast was growing on him; the boy having finally grown accustomed to the sting of salt and brine and the feeling of sand through his fur. The food took more getting used to but he was thankful for Ironsea's caches regardless, however minuscule they were. He no longer had the ghastly, skeletal look of an incompetent loner, though his scraggly figure was never one to leave much to the imagination. But with the newfound strength came the urge to wander, so Redshank took the day to travel west along the shore.

He eventually ended up in a strangely tropical area, puzzled by the odd trees that stretched lazily into the overcast sky. Some of the fruits they bore had fallen to earth, and the Cairn sniffed at one curiously, wondering how hard it would be to lug one back to the Bay.

This land was alien to him. The sky, stretching overhead in silent observation, was a few shades off. The birds sung a different song, the trees loomed with branches criss-crossing a foreign pattern - even the dirt beneath his feet seemed wrong, in some way. But the shore? The way the waves rushed forward to kiss land, pulling the sand back with all the reluctance of lovers plagued by distance, was all he ever knew. The salt that burned the insides of his nose and clung to his pelt, the gentle white noise of water against rock - it was home. He could cross the world and its seemingly endless expanse, and still feel at peace. For Æthelwulf was a River child, a bastard son born of the sea, and there was no coast that would not have him.

And it was toward the promise of ocean water that Wulf traveled. He followed the twisted shores of rivers as if they may guide him to the briny depths, and the faint smell of salt water carried on only the strongest of breezes served a compass. He welcomed the treeline when it came, only to find himself entirely dumbfounded by what grew there. Narrowed, pale eyes took in this new growth cautiously, curiously. It was in this wary observation that he found himself no longer in the agreeable company of solitude. A stranger bathed in umber waves, focused on something at their paws, stood in the distance. Instinct shouted vigilance, for the day could hold just as many terrors as the night.

Perhaps he was lonely, however, for he ignored it.

"Hello," came the greeting, when he was certain he was within earshot. His voice was hoarse and raw, neglected for so long that Æthelwulf himself was taken aback by its grating sound.

With a certain caution he hadn't practiced in months, Redshank carefully turned the strange, round object over with a forepaw. It rolled easily, revealing a small crack down the middle which revealed a pale, sweet-smelling interior. He stared unblinkingly at it with a crinkled nose, having never been one to indulge in anything other than meat and so found the scent mildly repulsive. He quickly decided against bringing it back, turning away from the fallen fruit with a snort before suddenly bristling as he found himself in the company of a stranger.

He was a lofty man, with an interesting, monochromatic coat that seemed like it had run out of ink from his head down, but Redshank's eyes were immediately drawn to the various scars that cut across his body in thick bands. Did he lose in a fight against every bear in the Wilds? He thought back to the haggard stranger who only recently joined their ilk in Ironsea, and began to wonder if he would turn out as horrendous as them if he spent any more time on the coast.

His raspy greeting was not missed, and the boy's fiery gaze flicked up to meet the man's icy one. Redshank didn't hide the fact that he was summing the stranger up in silence, expression pulled into its usual look of irritable moodiness. He let the words hang in the air for a moment or two longer before uttering, "th'fuck do y'want?"

He'd grown used to the stares. Their eyes always told different stories. Some were in awe, their imaginations spinning great tales of heroism and strength. Others found horror in the ugly, bare flesh, for surely only monsters carried such scars. He let them believe whatever it was they created, for it was always more grand and glorious than he was.

This stranger, however, gave him nothing. He saw neither glory, nor gore. Instead he found himself staring into thorns.

"th'fuck do y'want?"

His whiskered brows rose, and it'd be a lie to say he wasn't surprised. A foolish thing, as Wulf had meant many with a disposition less than sunny. Long periods of solitude caused him to forget, but he'd not be deterred so easily. Any sane man would certainly leave the stranger to their lonesome, but the River child couldn't stand being alone with himself a breath longer. His thoughts were torturous things.

"Nothing, I suppose."

Drown them out. I can't bear a second more of it.

"Company. If you have none to offer, however," he offered a way out, as the manners taught to him dictated. It remained to be seen if such was just a front, if he'd truly honor the man's wish should it be for privacy. Desperation was such an ill-mannered thing, after all.

His reaction was subtle, a simple raise of dark brows along with an almost dismissive comment, before he seemingly changed his mind on his answer. Company. It was rare that he encountered one so straight forward, an equally as considerate as he immediately offered him the chance to decline in a most elegant way. Redshank lacked any sort of social grace, however, and lifted his chin dubiously with a sneer. He debated on simply slinging another expletive and stalking off but, just like this man, he too had spent too long a time in his own company.

So the boy offered a nonchalant shrug, beginning to drift idly towards the next towering palm tree as if it was going to offer anything different than the last. "I guess y'can stay," he said, trying to hold off on sounding too vexed. He wouldn't admit it, but the man was intriguing, even if it was only because Redshank was interested in the conspicuous marks he carried. He gave him a brief backwards glance just in case, before commenting, "not much in th'way of good company out here, though."

He remained stoic when the other curled his lips, expecting the next words to be spat at him as a snake would venom. Instead? It appeared to be reluctant - at best, indifferent - acceptance, but acceptance nonetheless. Æthelwulf couldn't help but the spare the smallest of smirks. It was a low point, wasn't it? How little pride he had to hold if the words "I guess you can stay" sounded like anything less than an insult.

Pathetic.

Fortunately, he'd come to this conclusion many years prior, and the renewed realization didn't bother him too terribly.

His eyes followed the stranger as they neared a tree before his allowed his gaze to climb the weathered bark. It'd only provide the man more of same, and still he seemed interested. It was surely an idle action, if a conscious one at all, but Wulf couldn't help to feel a bitter kinship to the bleak repetition. 

"What are you, then, if not good company?"

There was a certain sort of melancholy in the stranger's demeanour, as if some spark inside had died out long ago — if there had ever been one there to begin with. Redshank wasn't the most observant of wolves, but this he picked up on. It did little to garner any sympathy from him towards the man, however. They all had their plights, and sulking about it wouldn't make their circumstances any better.

His answer was unexpected. Amicable fella, wasn't he? Redshank shrugged again without sparing the two-toned wolf a glance, pausing to sniff at the tree's trunk. Again, the disgustingly sweet scent invaded his senses and he withdrew just as quickly. "Dunno," came his reply after a brief silence. The Cairn didn't have an answer for the man; his own sense of self had been lost for a long time now.

It was then he shot him a pointed look, "what's your name?"