Cerulean Cape I made you my temple, my mural, my sky

For several days, a storm howled along the coastline, forcing Wylla and Stag to take shelter in the cliffs a little further inland. She knew enough about the Pacific coast to know that storms like this weren't terribly common, and the longer it raged, the more worried she became. They couldn't hunt in those conditions.

When the blizzard lulled, she ranged out from where they'd hunkered down. Her stomach was pinched with hunger, so the first thing she did was head for the nearby cove, hopeful that she might find something in a tidepool, but when she arrived at the beach, it was to find the entirety of it covered in snow right up to the ocean's edge, with little promise of wandering crabs or other fare. Wylla's face, already drawn from hungry travel and sorrow, visibly fell further.

because ramesses did not understand how the cold river ran into the cold seas, he had gone back to it. here the scents of yuelong and of others clung, and he trotted along the ice-rimed sand of the peninsula, his own stomach cramped in hunger.
it was perhaps why the pharaoh did not move to strike an immediate conflict with the small figure who stared at the wintertide with a somber expression. the pale beast only snorted, approaching until he was close enough to find her far different from the empress. he kept a polite distance between them, turned his own lapis gaze out to sea.
"this is an ugly place."

What was she to tell Stag now?

Hey, so, there's no food out here. Sorry you left your home to follow me because you thought I was competent, but the truth is, I'm not. I should have died a long time ago. I wish I'd died a long time ago. Now your life's just as bad as mine is and you'll probably die because of me, too.

She blinked back to reality at Ramesses' words, unfocused eye sharpening back on the lapping shoreline, then turning abruptly to the gold-chased youth standing a short distance away. It was impossible for them not to lift to the boy's impossibly blue eyes, if not by force of habit, then because the colour was so stark and alien etched against his pale face that they drew all attention from other aspects of him. Not before she took note of his bearing, however. Without doing anything at all, Ramesses was capable of communicating that he thought highly of himself, although she had to wonder if she simply painted every man with that brush nowadays, ever since—no. She could not dwell on him, not for one second more.

Life's an ugly whore, she responded, pressing her lips into a tight line. What's your point?

the woman's rebuttal drew a sharp look; ramesses meant to say something, but words crumbled upon his tongue as if they were dust inside a sarcophagus. one eye blazed back with the hardened expression of one who has seen too much war; the other was gone, swallowed inside its own cavern. 
"a whore gives pleasure," pharaoh rebutted. "this gives nothing." and still he did not take his eyes from the greystone's face, feeling himself helplessly compelled to explore the edge of that open maw set where her stare should have been equally hard. "life is your own series of demands."

Life cares little for anyone's demands, or wants, or needs, she rejoined with a grimace. She didn't much care for his tongue. She'd had her fill of male arrogance and what pomp once would have amused her now tasted sour in her mouth. He was young. Perhaps Stag's age, but with a confidence that smacked of privilege rather than experience. Maybe she pegged him wrong, but she wanted nothing to do with his sort, and her spirit was broken enough without another bold young thing taunting her with what they thought they knew.

A little man still wet behind the ears, she observed. knows nothing yet of life.

"you are certainly bitter," the exile remarked, feeling the sting of her tongue in his pretty hide. for reasons unknown to him, the dismissive attitude of the one-eyed woman rankled ramesses. and yet perhaps she was correct. she wore scars clustered over her cold features, and he had none.
the ugly sin of jealousy crossed over his heart, and the serpent of the sands raised his head proudly. "i know more than to stare off at the water as if it will overflow and drown me." a retort meant to barb, though in the next moment his haughty visage smoothed. "that way, on that island, there is an empress. perhaps she will take you in," ramesses said of yuelong, tail switching at his heels. "it will put more in your soured belly than being alone."

To his observation, she had no argument to give. Show Wylla a wolf who had endured life the way she had and was not so, and she would proclaim them false of heart. But Ramesses knew nothing of her life or that her bitterness was well earned, and she wasn't about to speak of it to him. It was past time to return to her own privacy. She could not bear to bare her damaged heart to the world any longer, much less another blasted man. Protecting herself was a necessity, now.

Nothing to say about the water, either, merely a mental start at how accurate his claim was. She hadn't realized she'd been doing that, and more importantly, she hadn't realized that more than one thought about whether drowning was a kinder feeling than going hungry for another afternoon had drifted across her distant mind while she did so.

Her gaze drifted to the island. She made a short sound in her throat. Bold of you to think I'm alone, said Wylla, fixing him in her sight again, or that I want to indebt myself to some... Empress. What a lofty title. Another arrogant young wolf toting around their self-importance, she imagined incorrectly. Maybe I will take that island for myself.

She would do no such thing, but she would have to investigate this Empress for herself and determine whether living under another's stifling pride (for already she was drawing unfair conclusions about the nature of the island wolves) was more tolerable than going hungry, for both her and Stag.

ramesses made a great and mocking show of looking over both his shoulders, even turning in either direction. "with what army?" he sniped, though the tease had gone out of him. he was not a man who enjoyed being beholden to anyone, but the empress had given him a meal and a place to rest while the storm raged. perhaps he might influence greater favor by bringing her a warrior.
though, in ramesses' mind, a woman could no more be head of an army than she could be pharaoh.
that put him into a foul mood, thinking of hatshepsuun. "i see no guard with you, and debt is part of life," he pointed out, traveling the path his reluctant companion had made. "i would rather have my own patch of land, but this is a frozen waste. death here would be worthless." 
he wanted to leave, and yet he made no move yet to go.

What she gathered from the entire interaction was that Ramesses was dense.

He wasn't wrong that debt was just a part of life, but Wylla chose not to fixate on that. Instead, she scoffed at his notion that because she wasn't presently accompanied, she must be alone. A guard? What an absurd idea that was. If anything, it was the other way around: Wylla lived now only to help Stag find some happiness in his life. If anything, she was his guard, but that wouldn't occur to her. They were companions. It meant more than that. I fight my own battles, boy, with my own teeth. A guard following me is pointless. Everyone doing the same task is a waste of time. My comrade has his own things to do.

After a beat, she shook her head, as if dismissing him and his beliefs entirely. She couldn't understand a wolf like Ramesses, and she wasn't even going to try to do so, nor to explain her own views. If he wanted to cling to the idea that being on her own this immediate moment was the same as being alone, so be it. It's an ugly place, she agreed, so why are you here?

ramesses quickly considered escalating their conflict over the other's thornback tongue. yet pharaoh restrained himself. it would not be good for the gods to see him so humbled as to fight a woman. remember that Ra gives down his grace only unto the mediator between the holy place and the divine. that is you.
if only this one knew. ramesses had seen battle. granted, it had been in the company of several captains who had only guided his own strike, but he had worn the title at a young age. however ramesses did not want to impress this termagant.
and yet her did. "perhaps if you had been in possession of one, this would not have occurred."
the brat king gestured grandly at the canyon where her eye had been with a toss of his muzzle. "i am here because i must be here, for now. and i must make something of myself while i am here, so that when i return to where i came from, i have more to offer."
how many years did she have? ramesses wondered idly, having found it firmly established she felt old enough to call him boy, shun the aura of greatness that surrounded him. "not much of a comrade if they leave you abandoned in a storm," he provoked, pressing the issue back upon her small hard figure. "but then again, you are a sharp-clawed little peacock."

And I would be a coward, and unworthy of my life, she retorted, which is something you must know all about. She could see him as nothing more than a self-important little boy who allowed others to fight for him, rather than with him. A wolf like that would never earn a lick of respect from anyone, making his previous claim that he wished he had land of his own laughable. She had not secured the respect of her fellows by giving her all to them. What noble wolf would ever follow this brat?

You really are a fool, she declared, and decided she would waste no further time on this prick. She still had to find some food for herself and Stag, and since letting her soul tear itself apart, she found no joy in allowing a wolf no older than her daughter and half as mature to press her buttons. She turned neatly on her heel without acknowledging his barbs and headed back for the mainland, where she might be able to scare up some meager meal.

amazing 100/10 thread as usual, gonna use this for his counsellor trade *snerk*

it is you who is a fool! ramesses wished to shout after the straight line of her back decamping through the storm. he understood diplomacy and all the wordliness of the court; she bore terrible scars and believed a maiming was the worth of one's soul.
pharaoh would never suffer the same should he help it. loyalty was won and held in other ways, but who could expect such nuance from the battle-wrought? still, he halfheartedly hoped she would see reason and attend the empress of the island, if not for the simple fact he had found himself better matched in this war of wits.
or let the accursed harpy march into the white and die.
ramesses decided he did not care enough to follow, and turned away to pursue his own trajectory, always keeping in sight of the shadow that marked the island as he wandered through the sleet in search of cover.