Sea Lion Shores Tell me I'm the only one

set for early morning 11/7, light rain, 36F

He had woken early and headed out to possibly find something for breakfast. He wasn't really that hungry, but he didn't want Tuvaq to not have breakfast in case he was hungry once he woke. But his lack of interest in eating meant he was mostly strolling along through the shallow ocean seemingly with no purpose, the waves crashing gently against his legs. The water was chilly and so was the rain that pattered against his face, but he was not uncomfortable. His coat provided ample protection; it wasn't considerably thick nor was it too thin to offer him warmth on days like today.

Eventually, he would return, hopefully with breakfast. But for now, he was content to wander along the shore and be alone with his thoughts, which consisted predominantly of his relationship with Tuvaq and how to define it. Did he want to define it? Did he really even understand it enough to define it? All he knew was that it was more than friendship, and he felt a rare surge of temper imagining his companion having a similar relationship with someone else, whatever that even meant. He could really use a good talk with his mom right about now, but it was too long a journey, and he had just enough pride to keep him from running home to mom when things got confusing. 

So he just mulled over the thoughts instead, hoping that the solution would just magically come to him.

The south shores beckoned him in a way that he did not argue this morning, drawing the gold and cream man in with little effort. The world was alive with scents colors, the gentle patter of rain making everything bright and intense, the way the nordic man loved things most. A calm day was pleasant and enjoyable, but a day that made his heart race, his pupils dialate, was a day that he could not get enough of. The sharp smell of salt, the wail of gulls overhead, he wanted more of it all.

A wolf on the horizon, ambling along the shore, their scent yet drowned by the ocean and wind alike. A low boof left the man, his trot carrying him across the sand at a mild enough pace. Intentions unknown even to him, the pallid wolf approached the other, liver colored eyes watchful and bright.

Acheron froze in response to the greeting sound, turning to face the other wolf as he approached. There was no indication of his intentions, and so the freckled boy tensed a little, his gaze somewhat wary as he looked over the stranger. 

For a few moments, he stayed where he was and just watched the other wolf approach, unsure how he would handle a confrontation should it arise; he had no intention of dying here today, so he was pretty sure it would end in a fight if the stranger wished it to be that way. 

But in the event that the pale man was here on more friendly or curious terms, Acheron didn't greet him with any real aggression—just a curious but guarded expression as he waited to see where things would go.

Meters left between them, the ice-man slowed to a stop, watching the other wolf as carefully as they watched him. Caution was a thing to be appreciated; so many wolves did not know caution, did not know self-preservation. In these first few moments between them, it was obvious that this one valued his own life, enough to be wary of Stjornuati as he approached. The cream colored creature would have responded in a starkly similar manner and so, gave the male space.

Tail flagged neutrally, ears at an almost lazy position, the Stormskyli's head dropped in quiet greeting before returning to a more normal position. Are you a sea wolf? He asked, pondering if this was one of the ones from the coast-dwelling packs. With the breeze not blowing in his favor, he could not yet pick out the scents that lingered around the freckled one, and so could not glean this information without asking.

Acheron returned his silent greeting with a dip of his own head. The other man was handsome—that much he noticed right away, although not as handsome and Tuvaq; it was likely that he wouldn't find anyone that was.

The question was odd, but it made him smile a little regardless. The freckled boy shook his head. No, he answered. I have been traveling with my friend, and I just like it here, he explained. They had stayed near the coast the entire time they had been on their own. 

Are you a seawolf? he asked in return. Was that why he had wanted to know if Acheron was one himself? Of course, it could just seem that way because he was here, on the beach, but he imagined lots of wolves came here whether they lived here or not.

Nei, Came the answer, quick and concise. He was no sea wolf, though he was unafraid of the churlish waters that lapped at the beach they stood upon, though there were many dangers within its stormy depths. He had seen them as a boy, tested their strength and pull as a teen, and respected their power as a man. He would stay here, on solid ground, rather than subject himself to their icy wrath one more.

This one is an ice wolf. A mountain wolf. A drengr. His head lifted in pride as he answered the question, though the adjustment was cleared with a shake of his shoulders and fur. He could feel the water droplets cling to his overcoat, to his eyelashes and his whiskers. Stjörnuáti. You?