Ankyra Sound incarceration

@Lucca

There was no reason for him to be out on the strand so early in the morning, save for the fact he hadn't slept that night. It seemed pertinent to go out and find some breakfast anyway, and maybe Firefly would find something substantial to bring back with him — something to lift everyone's spirits. As the sun woke up and rose to greet him over the horizon, he noticed with a grim squint that the sky was transforming before his eyes.

Soon the seaside clouds were streaked with blushing pink. He thought it was appealing only for its strangeness, and ducked his head towards a nearby tussock instead of watching the show. As he worked at his investigation, Firefly crept along the sandy hills until his impatience got the better of him. Nothing here was worth it; there were signs of rabbit activity further from the shoreline but nothing immediate.

He resorted to tearing at the grass, ripping and throttling with shakes of his ugly head, until he had a nice pile of dry reeds (roots and all) scattered around him.

It was the most active the boy had ever been since he had left the Plateau on his ill-fated search. Where, back home, Lucca would laze and graze all day and know mommy and daddy and the rest of his family always had his back, here, he actually had to prove his worth. He had to do work. And work he did, though he was worried it wasn't enough. Caiaphas' words constantly rang throughout his mind — normally, trespassers are killed. It had shook him to the core.

So he rose early each morning and started the day by scouring the beach for food, herbs, and trinkets, finding a certain sort of delight whenever he chanced upon a weird-looking shell. Already, he had started to amass a small collection he had hidden away deep in one of the cliffside nooks.

It was during his usual routine he saw the golden-touched man, tearing and ripping out tufts of grass with a kind of savagery that was unnerving this early in the morning. He had been doing this for a while, it seemed, if the piles of dead grass spread about him were anything to go by. As Lucca cautiously approached, his gaze trailed the scars that littered the man's pelt, wondering if they were all from the recent battle. "Uh, are you okay, sir?"

The mess on the beach would probably be swept away when the tide came in, so he wasn't really thinking about the aesthetics of his efforts. Sometimes when he ripped up the clusters of grass, small things would tumble out. Bits of shell most often, or grains of sand sure, but from time to time a frenzied crab trying to get clear of his rampage. When the boy slunk up close and spoke, Firefly had a mouthful of reeds clutched between his teeth. He spat it out and appeared to be grimacing; he hadn't anticipated being disturbed this early, and hadn't thought that his own behavior might be bothering others - it never crossed his mind really.

Who're you? He quipped instead of answering the boy, glowering with the full strengh of his bad mood. Something about the kid was familiar, but he couldn't place it. It reminded him of how familiar-but-not the scent of that dumb cat in the grotto turned out to be, and he was hesitant to engage the stranger.