Gilded Bay i live in the shrubbery, cause that’s all i crave

@Sirin sorry this late night post sucks rip lmk if this location doesn’t work for u!

The seasman lay in the wet sand that edged along the vast open sea. At his paws was a fish that had been unfortunate enough to come too close to the shore. It’d been made a quick meal of. In that moment, as Valentine picked through his teeth with his tongue, he couldn’t be happier.
But as the meal grew less and less, he found himself growing more dissatisfied. There was nothing he could do about that now though. He only stared out into the sea.

the sea is soothing to him like a lullaby, despite the uncomfortable memories it sometimes provokes within him. nevertheless, sirin is a seadog at heart. he draws in a deep breath of the salty tang; stinging and cold as it rolls off the tide. the familiar stench of fish — making up a majority of his diet — draws him to the discarded remains ...and the wolf that stands nearby it. moonbeam gaze takes him in for a moment; deciding. `ey, stick boy. sirin bellows out; tact never one of his strong suits. i have fish bones? he asks, gesturing towards the remains with his muzzle.

A small form lingered in the corner of his eye. As moments passed it grew larger and larger until it finally stopped at his side. Valentine glanced over to see a behemoth of a man staring right at him.
Stick boy, he called him. It got a soft laugh out of him.
Here you go, mate. Valentine stood and pushed over the remains of the fish towards the giant. It was nothing more than slivers of meat stuck to paperthin bones.
I must ask though; what do you plan to do with them?

sirin pads closer as the remains are pushed towards him; gratefully drawing the mess of bones and bits of meat and scales stuck to them closer with a large paw. head bends to begin to gather as much as he can in his jaws, only to pause at the question. moonbeam gaze rises to study the stranger, followed by the slow rise of his head as he contemplates the question, taking longer to translate it in his mind.

catch stupid birds. seagulls were scavengers by nature; but so too was sirin. when he'd had his first name as a cub: mutt by the fisherman whose home he'd been born into, he had been taught by his mother that the birds were lured by garbage. scraps. and while they squabbled: they were relatively easy prey.

keep busy. easy prey.

They we’re to ”catch stupid birds.” Valentine’s eyes went alight with a gradual realization.
Oh? I must say that’s a clever trick. Where I’m from we chase after them and hope for the best. The absurdity of it made him chuckle and shake his head.
Care if I join you? You can keep the catch. I only wish to watch and learn. He was a bit full from seafood anyhow.