Blackwater Islands Oh Comely

Hoping for @Akantha, but any and all Nerds welcome!

Sometimes, when the conditions were right and the winds pulled over the water from the north, things would wash up on the shore from the channel that snaked between the islands and the mainland. Many interesting things were spat out from the sea; rejected from her cold, watery embrace. When the sea brought him fish, Whip would eat. But on the days she offered only waste and wayward scraps of styrofoam, Whip went hungry. She was a fickle creature, or at least, Whip saw her as such. Neither benevolent or malicious, there was no denying that the Mothers of the Sea were -- and they were power.

He was thinning, like a twig or a sapling tree, but Whip had survived the worst of the cold. The sea provided when others did not. His spirit, however, had not.

When a young tree is subject to winds, first it bends. The youthful shoots are the most pliable and they don't give way so easily. They bow down in reverance of the winds power, but they rarely break. But older trees and older men alike, those bearing strong trunks and rigid belief, hold steadfast until they split. Splintering. Fracturing. Whip, being a wolf of young adulthood, had his pliability to thank for his adaptation to way of life of Neriedes.

He was a drudge, nothing more. He had even forsaken his own family name.

Today, the sea had given him no bounty. Her shores lay bare. Yet Whip still walked along the beach in silence as his stomach twisted with hunger pains.

Whip was a matter of importance to Akantha. She did not often enjoy the company of males, unlike Kalika—not since the Mother reclaimed Atlas and returned his bones to the briny depths, but he was one of two they now had. The ones now responsible for gifting their seed to the Sisters so that they might birth future Sirens to give love and reverence unto the Sea who, in her benevolence, protected them from the worst of the world beyond the shores. 

She was curled up beside one of the many hundreds of driftwood logs dotting the shores of the island tending to her healing wounds with slow draws of her tongue against the inflamed skin. They were no longer bloody and angry, but septis was a real concern for her. The boy was unclean—who was to say what foulness bloomed in his cursed mouth? The torn flesh on her neck still throbbed however she was too concerned with seeming weak to her Sisters to admit her folly and ask for help. 

Movement drew her attention and she snapped her head towards it, spotting Whip a few dozen yards down the shore. Her ears peaked and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. So far, he'd given her no reason to doubt his loyalty, but she also hadn't been given the chance to test the depth of it just yet. Akantha rolled to the other side to better watch him as he approached. He was a thin, scraggly thing, moreso now than before. It was a poor sight. 

She didn't announce her presence just yet, wanting to see his interactions with the enviorment.

Whip turned his gaze from the shore to the sea. The grey, overcast sky and still water of the channel fused together in an endless horizion. The air was still and brisk. The only sound Whip could hear was the gentle lapping of the water against the driftwood dappled coast. Strangly, Whip noticed that even the gulls were quiet today. He turned away and continued on to scavenge what he could. He pushed forward in ignorance of the proximity of his matriarch and the bloodied scent of her healing wounds.

He stopped at a tide pool where the water had been trapped by a wayward piece of driftwood. The water was murky brown and smelled sharply of brine. He had learned long ago, when he had first been brought to the coast by the sirens he traveled with, that the water tasted foul -- and that no matter how much one drank, one would only became more thirsty.

A single exploratory paw was dipped into the frigid water and Whip felt the soft sand beneath. He dug around for a moment, but once again, he found nothing of usefulness. When his gaze was drawn from the pool and leveled with the horizon, he could then see the matriarch; staring, watching.

He averted his gaze and became stone where he stood. He tucked his tail between his legs. These women, he feared them -- and for good reason.

Whip seemed almost defeated when he did not unveil any morsels in the tidepool. From her perspective, it was a frail attempt. If the Sea truly had to provide for him, he needed to start showing he possessed the skills and knowledge to take advantage of it. Still, she couldn't allow him to waste away while he learned.

When at last he noticed her, he immediately shrank away from her gaze. Akantha pulled her lips back in a smirk. "You may be full grown, but you thrash like a newborn in the waves." She crooned to the yearling Drudge. The Matriarch shifted and gingerly gathered her legs beneath her to stand. Her neck throbbed, and her shoulders twinged, but she would not show weakness to even the lowest wolf on the hierarchy. The Amazonian leader did not look away as she stepped over the log to stride across the damp sand. Her nose flared when she came within reach, and she nosed his ruff to inspect the scent—with the addition of the sea spray clinging to his guard hairs he was indistinguishable from the others. Good.

Akantha wisked her tail and abruptly turned from him to the waves. "Can you even swim?" She asked as she strode into the shallows. The biting cold stung, but she paid it little mind. The soft sand between her paws shifted and moved as each digit sought purchase on the ocean floor.

Whip was small in his own right, but he tried to make himself smaller. Among the Neriedes, he got by by being unnoticed. In Redhawk Caldera, his percieved invisibility had been the source many'a crisis -- but here, it was his saving grace. He was not among family, nor would he ever be again, so the pain of going unnoticed was sufficiently dulled. In fact, the dull nihilistic ache of meaninglessness far outweighed the pain that would be inflicted upon him should he inadvertantly step out of line.

However, no matter how still Whip stood, he could not shake the matriarch's piercing gaze. She neared, and as she pulled close, she spoke. Her voice was as cold as the water that soaked Whip's forelegs. A chill ran down his spine. His body tensed as he felt her touch against his neck. A salty mixture of brine and blood assailed his sense of smell.

And then, she pulled away to trail into the sea's embrace. Whip took a step forward behind his matriarch, but he was reluctant. "I—" Whip shook his head. "I don't know. I've never had to." His ears fell flat against his head and he stared out to sea. His father had brought him along with his brothers to the shores of Lake Rodney for a time that felt so long ago. The others, they swam with abandon -- but Whip had been fearful.

Fearful, just as he was now as his eyes fell on the gentle current of the channel.

Akantha twisted an ear to catch the rasping sound of sand as he took one step towards her, but she could sense he hesitation in the movement before he put words to it. It was not unusual for inland wolves to lack forethough—teaching their children to swim was a basic necessity that she expected all parents to adhere to, but it was too often missed among all the other useless guff strangers fussed over. He was young, still, so she did not fault him for not trying to learn by himself. 

She would correct these oversights.

The water bubbled and frothed as it surged up over her legs, to the peak of the wave, and back into the Sea again. The biting cold rooted her, and calmed her irritation at Whip's predicament. Normally she would simply drag him to the depths and command his instinct to keep him afloat until he learned to time his movements. But she couldn't risk losing him this soon. So, instead, she pivoted to face him again swept her muzzle around to regard him with quirked brows and a bored expression.

"You will now." She replied evenly. The Matriarch took a moment to look around, searching the trees with a shrewd cast to her eyes, before jerking her head in a beckoning motion. "Come on," Thankfully, the water was relatively calm today and the tide was high. Akantha waded out until her back was fully submerged, and her paws were barely skimming the bottom.

In Whip's experiance (however limited it was), learning was simply half watching carefully -- the rest was due competance and instinct. After Akantha bid him to follow her into the Mother's watery embrace, Whip stood steadfast and watched as her back slipped beneath the tide. His eyes followed the ripples of the water and the gracefull movement of her body. Despite her injuries, she moved like a dancer; both comfortable and in her element. Whip wondered if he could effectly mirror her movements and do the same.

But even then, the primal fear that the undertow would drag him under remained. "Oh," muttered Whip, gulping. "I, uh -- okay." There was no way out of this now, so he took a hesitent step forward in the Matriarch's direction. The cold water lapped at his ankles and chilled him to the bone. He continued slowly until the water's surface met his chest.

Then, he stopped. "What do I do?" asked Whip, eyes falling on the Matriarch with earnest.

While the Matriarch took some joy in the fear Whip displayed around the Sisters, for they were as savage as the churning sea, she didn't gain anything useful from it except, perhaps, loyalty. Her grasp on leadership was secure until a more experienced, more venerated Sister came along to retrieve the mantle, and males were of little consequence to this. She could feel his eyes on her as she moved from the shore to the surf, but quietly hoped he didn't notice how much the initial sting of the salt against her raw skin pained her.

Even so, she moved languidly through the calm waters, and even pushed off the bottom to swim in a lazy curve until she faced him again. His unease was almost palpitable and to her object horror, she felt a small twinge of sympathy for the boy. Stamping it down and locking it tightly behind her normal indifference, she hauled herself out of the ocean until she stood beside him in the shallows again with water cascading down her pelt. Akantha wrinkled her nose. "Wade until you hit your mental block, and then keep going until you can barely touch the bottom. If we get past that, and it doesn't come naturally to you, then we'll talk about how to do it." Because he likely wasn't reassured by that idea, she flashed him a predatory grin, "I won't let you drown." 

And, with that, Akantha strode casually back into the water though this time she stopped just short of the drop off. A wave crested over her back and she winced, again, as the salt and cold bit into her wounds.

Pushing through his inhibitions, Whip tried to do as he was told lest he bring the wrath of the Matriarch upon him for his apprehension. He drew breath and gulped, setting himself into motion as his paws carried him out to sea and into the watery unknown with wide sweeping strokes. Terror reared its ugly head in Whip's chest; tighteing, coiling with every step. He did not wish to continue. Looking back over his shoulder, Whip cast a worried glance toward the shore. The Matriarch did her best to reassure him, but Whip wasn't entirely sold on her good-nature. Especially now, as he waded deep enough that the water began to rise over his back.

Soon, all that remained above the surface was Whip's head. He took a long, deep breath as if it were to be his last and then he closed his eyes. With another step forward, Whip could no longer touch the bottom. He could tread water awkwardly, and with his first exploratory movements, Whip found that swimming was largly instinctual.

He stayed close and he swam slow -- and even went far enough to cast Akantha a surprised, yet somewhat proud glance as if to say: Look what I can do.

Through her narrowed, hawkish eyes, she watched him as he waded into the water. She could sense the fear he harbored for the water—his breath staggered, his muscles tense, and his pupils dialated when he cast them back over his shoulder for reassurance. She nodded, once, and followed him as he wandered out of reach. The Matriarch couldn't afford to lose him, even if the Sea willed it. But, thankfully, She was calm today and Akantha could feel her cool touch probing and caressing her as her body became submurged, welcoming her daughter back into Her embrace.

Akantha waited for Whip to reach his limit. And waited. And waited. But the grayscale boy kept pushing forward until his body bobbed awkwardly in the surf, and his head poked stiffly out of the water. To her utter surprise, Whip was swimming. It lacked the grace of her Sisters, but his legs churned and lent momentum to his movements. She stood, gobsmacked, at the sight and couldn't quite reign in her joy when he looked her way. 

She pushed off the bottom and glided towards him, but not too close to avoid tangling their limbs. She didn't want to disturb his progress, but she hovered protectively all the same in case he floundered. "Excellent!" She breathed, "See? Your mind remembers, even if you do not." Akantha stopped herself before it turned into a sermon. "It'll take time to build up stamina, but soon you'll be swimming the channel without the assistance of the sandbar."

Apart from the harsh, biting chill of the freezing water, this had been the first happy moment of Whip's life since the time before his father's death -- perhaps even further still. He found it easier to stay afloat as he went along, and after a few moments, Whip no longer worried as he had before. Akantha took his side close by, and while he knew his presence among the neriedes was expendable at best, her presence was reasuring. As to why she showed him kindness, Whip was unsure.

As Whip's head bobbed clumsily above the water, a foreign expression crossed his face. A smile. "Holy fuck, I'm doing it," he uttered in suprise of himself. Swimming came easy, but Whip found it to be hard work. Soon enough, he grew tired.

Turning back to shore, Whip sought the comfort of solid ground. When his paws finally made landfall, he looked back to Akantha and wondered aloud, "How can I remember how to do something when I've never done it before?" What the matriarch had said held Whip's attention. His curiosity was genuine and childlike.

Akantha herself couldn't be sure as to why she was allowing her guard to fall in Whip's presence. Aktaie, her mother, and Meteora all would disapprove heavily if they found out. But she thought back to her first year as an adult and how kind Atlas had been despite their differences—appearances were one thing, but was there really a reason for their discrimination against them? The Matriarch caught herself before her rumination went too far, unwilling to admit that she doubted, even for a second, their way of life.

When Whip began to tire, she followed him to the shore until she was only submerged up to her chest. Whip's question was enough to reignite that characteristic irritation in her and she snorted derisively. Her brows knit together and she frowned, "Because our kind has been around since time began, and we have key memories etched into our blood. Some call it instinct, others intuition, but everyone has it. Even those not returned to the Mother." She hauled herself out of the waves and brushed past him as she found a sandy spot between the tide lines and flopped down upon it. 

The fire in her eyes dimmed again, and she expelled a heavy breath through her nose. Her gaze sought his own, and her ears peaked atop her skull. There was something thoughtful in the twist of her mouth. It was neither unkind, but it was not warm either. "Do you understand your position among us, Whip?" She asked, desperately wanting to snuff any doubt from his mind, but unwilling to throw that wall up between them just yet.

As Akantha answered his question with a slight hint of ire, Whip shook himself dry. He then settled with his belly flat against the sand a fair distance away from the matriarch. In a way, her answer was reasuring. That life, somehow, never truly ended; that it was a cycle instead of a straight line. Whip had always believed it to be something like a race to the finish where the prize was nothingness and nonexistance. Somehow, that meant both his father and his mother were still out there, reborn.

But they would not remember their child left behind. Reassurance aside, this was a heavy and saddening realization. He fell silent to process his lingering grief.

Whip's thoughtful gaze fell on the matriarch's as he saw a question born on the tip of her tongue. "I'm a consort," he answered. "Or, uh -- not yet," he added after a beat. Meteora had explained his lot in life in brief when she brought him in, but even then, Whip was unsure of some of the finer points of his position. What he did know, however, was: "I do what I'm told." Whatever it was.

Akantha spent the few moments waiting for his answer by observing the sleek, rugged lines of his form, and appraising the sturdiness of his bones. But his build was thin, and would likely always remain coltish. She wondered who would chose him for the rites, and who she would chose to perform them. It had to be someone loyal—someone she could trust, and someone who wouldn't kill all of their male children. The key to her success was in the first litter, and raising the newest generation of Consorts her way. 

But she wasn't about to confess any of that to Whip, let alone the rest of the Nereides.

His answer came, small, and uncertain. She narrowed one eye thoughtfully, and allowed silence to spare her a moment to think. "Correct." She answered slowly. "But it also means you protect us; the territory, the sirens, our children. You may also, someday, be asked to sire a litter. In exchange, you are fed and protected in turn."

"We have a male rank—Epivitoras​. He alone is above the rest of the men, and leads them. The Matriarch also keeps an ear reserved for him, because he is often in a position to witness dissent. But it is a rank I will only bestow on someone who proves themself to be utterly devoted to the Nereides. It has never been given to an outsider." she explains with a small smile. "but, that may change soon."

Whatever the cost, whatever he had to do, Whip would do it to ensure his own survival. In a way, his relationship with the Neriedes was symbiotic, as he would likely die without them. Just as he would have if Meteora hadn't taken him in that day at the hot springs. If they called upon him to sire a litter, he would do just that. Though, as young and naïve as he was, Whip was unsure of exactly how he would sire a litter(unbeknownst to him, he would soon learn with Kalika). He simply nodded, accepting his place in the heirarchy without argument or thought.

Then, when the conversation evolved, Whip listened with rapt interest. Epivitoras. Though he would likely have trouble even pronouncing it himself, he found the title enviable. But, as Akantha said, Whip was an outsider, but she soon dropped Whip a line as if she were hinting at something greater. "Do, uh -- Do you think that I might be the Epivitoras someday?" he then asked.

wrapping this up since we have a new one. :3

Whip and Gabe both were slowly beginning to accept their place among them, and Akantha could not be more pleased. It was just one more weight lifted off her shoulders. Once she didn't need to worry about the men, then she could focus on her Sisters and their needs. Granted, she knew she needed to keep an eye on them both, being outsiders and men, but she trusted they would not forsake her kindness for negligence. 

When the boy caught on to what she was hinting at, Akantha could only smirk. She hauled herself up to stand solidly on all four paws with sand clinging to her damp fur, and no cares given towards it. "Wouldn't that be interesting, hm?" She remarked coyly. The Matriarch sighed as the chilly wind licked at her skin and turned her muzzle into it. "I am going to do a patrol and look for more gifts to leave in the caches for the Sisters. You may join if you wish." She said with a gentle wave of her tail. Despite her position as Matriarch, voice of the Sea and bearer of their culture, she liked Whip and found his company pleasurable. His innocence and naivety was infectious, and the maternal side of her wanted, desperately, to take him under her wing and teach him everything he'd missed.

But instead she simply turned away from him without another word and set off the shore line.

Sounds good!

Whip smiled a rare smile. It was clear to Whip that the Matriarch saw promise in him, though she tried to hide it well. She was fond of him -- but in the same way, Whip was fond of her too. In some ways, Whip felt like Akantha was a replacement for his own late mother. A much needed stand-in. Sometimes, though it was rare, she was even more nurturing than the wolf who gave birth to him.

She rose, setting a course down the beachhead. Whip silently accepted the Matriarchs invitation and he followed behind silently. Though he did not let on, Whip daydreamed in a childlike manner as they went, mulling over a single word until he could practically taste it on his tongue. Epivitoras.