Ankyra Sound o green world, don't desert me now

with quick steps the sylph crossed the expanse of the sound, headed down towards the barrier plains, where the low tide had sucked the last of the water back for acres and scores of blackened rocks dotted the tidal flat. the foreshore was fleeting in its presence, but when it was exposed there were thousands of pelagic creatures trapped in the temporarily landlocked pools. already gulls swarmed in thick number, and caiaphas parted through them like a heretic with teeth flashing and harsh splashes of her agile feet striking compact sand.

she saw @Kierkegaard ahead, already taking advantage of the smorgasbord of readily plucked fauna to be had. slowing her gait she came up alongside him with her muzzle rifling the water, her intrepid gaze fastened on him in silence as she nosed the ground for any crustaceans.

The ghost's pace had slowed dramatically since his return to the wilds. The cold winds made his bones ache and his limbs shiver, regardless of how he tried to contain them. Kierkegaard had grown frustrated with his own body and the age that was beginning to slow him down. Each morning, he continued to remind himself that it was smart to have settled in the sound; Grimnismal was a good group, and worthy of his fangs. Still, nothing could prevent that sharp longing for previous years and the ability to wander away as he pleased. The ashen figure never had imagined himself there, but it was there that he would stay and eventually end.

Kierkegaard moved down the edge of the water with ragged steps. The length of his limbs seemed to quiver with each touch of the frigid ocean water. As Caiaphas approached him at the side, he swung his skull around to face her with a tired amber stare. The ghost of a smile seemed to tug lightly at the corners of his dark lips before ceasing its efforts. She had seemed to spark a new bead of life in him, in spite of his rigid movements and winter-afflicted limbs. For that moment, his eyes danced with a rare sort of pleasure.

“Are you happy to be home?”

stop calling grumpus old it makin' me sad

he was in the water as she approached, his ragged fur swirling in the cold liquid's embrace. she knew the reason he sought the hyperborean touch of the sea, but she dared not give that thought life by speaking of it. it was an untenable thought to the siren queen.

when he spoke caiaphas drew her eyes along his wearied muzzle. he posed a question to her and she considered the answer with a solemn weight that was unusual for her. she had never been happy and found the word incompatible: she had been so consumed by finding the luschyon brood, so consumed by reclamation of the sound -- that she hardly had spent much time at all thinking of such philosophical matters as her (and kierkegaard's) quality of life.

she sucked her breath as she pulled into the water alongside him. it chilled her spine and her bones rattled. "i am." her voice was free from dishonest inflection: with kierkegaard she had always been her true self, raw and transparent. he would have seen through any guise so she had never bothered to attempt misleading him. she leveled her sharp muzzle to him and spoke: "but you are not." it was a comment free from judgment or accusation -- simply an observation by an astute comrade. he had always been the wayfarer -- he wore such rough-shod clothes plainly. caiaphas wondered (though in a strangely sad way, she already knew) how kierkegaard felt for that chapter of his life to be irrevocably closed forever.

It would have been easy to be swept away by the waters. All it would have taken was for his limbs to give way beneath the firm pull of her cold grasp, and Kierkegaard would wash away without another sound to the wilds. Still, when he looked at Caiaphas, he did not want to leave again. As long as he believed this to be true, the ashen brute would stay where he was. Grimnismal would provide a good home to him, as long he provided for them. While he was not fond of immersing himself in a pack, he wanted to do so for Caiaphas.

She regarded his question with her honesty, and followed it with a simple statement and fluttered to him on the breath of the wind. Kierkegaard frowned thoughtfully before he bowed his head and then returned to face the sea. “You are not wrong,” he confirmed with a quiet rumble of his voice. While he was a simple beast, the reasoning behind his dislike for the sound was not quite so simple as unhappiness. Trying, he could only imagine that it fell on one reason:

“I have never had a home, and so this is the closest I will get. Perhaps it will grow on me,” he spoke to her in a softer tone than he had before. Pulling his vision from the ocean and settling it back to the dark hood of her face, the ghost attempted a fleeting smile before it vanished. He wanted to try for her; he wanted to stay there so that she might have her home again too. For as graceless as Kierkegaard was in most social situations, she was always the easiest for him to read. Caiaphas cared for her home, and so he would try until he could not try any longer – for her.

Fixing her with a curious gaze – as though he were trying to collect every feature on her sharp face for safekeeping – the brute released a quiet sigh. “It will be nice to stay with you. That will make me happy.” And though the ragged man had truly never experienced happiness, she would be as close as he could get.

the pale shadow reaffirmed her suspicions with a quiet rumble. had caiaphas been a less selfish wolf, or even a more compassionate one, she may have been hurt to hear that the sound was not good enough for him. instead she measured his unhappiness against a code of strange practicality - he was a windborne creature, a wolf of the tundra -- and her way of life was stagnant. like a river that had spent its entire life in white-capped rapids, now forced deep underground in a lifeless cavern of interminable dormancy. far from the eye of the sun, cheerless, and immobile. for a wolf that had campaigned thousands of miles under his heels caiaphas imagined this home was anything but.

she was not worried for she knew all things had a conclusion -- realistically hers would not be far behind the haggard man's -- she did not find it odd to entertain the idea that this would be her last crusade. like her comrade happiness was unobtainable for the salt-wretch -- but perhaps given some time alongside her most constant guardian, her rigid way of thinking would dissolve and the gods would allow her one final happiness: content.

it was far off, and she shook such soft ideas from her head with a harsh flap of her ears. "it will make you happy?" she queried teasingly, unused to the sappiness -- she hated being vulnerable, hated being exposed - but kierkegaard was her last true friend amid a sea of endless enemies. "i hope it will. there is food here. security. perhaps it is simply a new leaf. our last leaf." she looked to him pointedly, the reality of their grim situation plain in her yellow eyes.

“As happy as I can be.”

The words did not come with emotion, but a peculiar rigidness. Kierkegaard was aware of her distaste for exposed moments of bearing one's soul. It had not been his intention. Try as he might, the ghost did not dwell well on his own emotions, but he was still capable of feeling them. More than this, it was foolish to think that the man who had spent his entire life as a vagabond would ever find true happiness in a single place. Optimism was not his strong suit, but he wanted to tell himself that he had a reason to remain where he was, and that reason had to be her. Were it not for the bright yellow of her gaze and the way that she provided him with the only manner of companionship he sought, Kierkegaard would have wandered away one last time and never returned.

Caiaphas seemed to believe that this would also be the place for her to settle. It seemed fitting, as the ashen wolf did not see her anywhere else. He had known her devotion for the sound, and he had always assumed that she would end there. “Could you want for anything more?” he droned in a sardonic tone and cast her a bit of a dry expression. All things considered, he could have been latched with so many worse things. He knew that, as uncharacteristically sentimental as it was, he was pleased to have settled with her.

introspectively she examined the ragged ghost, recalling to mind their first encounter with a rueful and half-hidden smile. it was life's small irony that they had first met in a cave and now, their chapter was concluded by the grotto - perhaps she would serve as the silvery wraith's bookends -- or he as hers. 

it had been a lifetime ago -- in a mountainous area where the spires cut like razorback bristles against the endless skies. it had been storming then. for a moment she wondered what ever would have happened if the storm had not battered both of them into shelter.

as happy as he could be. caiaphas selfishly accepted that -- she did not believe either of them were capable of true bliss, and life had a strange way of tormenting its participants. he asked if she could want for anything more and her gaze flitted as she considered the question. most of her needs were met one way or another -- her belly was always satiated, her want for violence was usually fulfilled by the occasional antagonizing of an outsider. rarely she wanted for company, and when she broke from her heavy spells of intense isolation kierkegaard was there to oblige her. she had yet to tire of his company for that reason -- he was equally if not more independent, and she enjoyed their strange but oddly functional coexistence.

the only other thing the sylph wanted for required something she was unwilling to give to any wolf -- her gaze momentarily hardened as she thought of lasher, the only wolf to have ever proposed such affection towards her -- she had been interminably fond of lasher, but he was put into the cold ground years ago. it saddened her she would not see those intelligent moss-green eyes ever again, or witness the warm way the sunlight reflected off of his silver-flecked muzzle. kierkegaard was so different from him in every way, and she was grateful for it. she was unaware of kierkegaard regarded their arrangement as anything but platonic, but in some ways she viewed it as something a little more.

"it's a fulfilled life." she murmured, disappointed in herself for not uttering "yeah, duh - puppies." somehow, she thought such bald honestly would make their conversation wheel into an awkward and stilted stop.

Their first meeting had been a memory that he frequently filtered through in his own moments of peace. He could almost feel the crackling of the lightning still against the jagged rocks of the mountain spine. The memory of the falling rain would often lull him to sleep on nights when he did not know that he would ever sleep again. The wraith did not believe in things like fate; he was a man of harsh realities. Still, he wondered how different his life would have been if he had never happened upon her. He wondered how long ago he would have died.

Watching her, he could not help but to feel at ease. Though he was not pleased with the pack that they had made themselves a part of, and he did not feel as though a quiet life by the sea would bring him peace, Kierkegaard was content to have her there. Still, he wondered what more he could desire from such a full life. He had never truly wanted for anything, but there seemed to be something lacking from his existence. The ghostly figure did not understand how he could feel so hollow there and so complacent at the same time. Kierkegaard never imagined that he would desire more than what he had, and he knew that he was living on borrowed time. Were it not for the hooded woman next to him, he would have died several years before. Everything from that point on was icing on the cake.

“It's a fulfilled life.”

Her words rang through his ears and he peered at her with an inquisitive look. He had never heard the woman speak so low in all the time that he knew her. She was quick with her tongue and she did not ask for forgiveness for anything that she said, but these words had left her so strangely that he was certain there was something else that she had wished to say. Drawing his ears forward, the wraith smiled at her faintly and then drew his skull upward.

“But?”

a rare smile filtered on the ghost's face and caiaphas studied it shrewdly, her falcon-yellow eyes meeting his own but for a moment.

she had never been one to hold back her tongue -- it did not suit her. she had spent her entire life throwing her mouth before her thoughts, and most of the time it had rewarded her. in the few times it hadn't, she had been crafty enough to weasel herself out of unpleasant situations with some wily thinking on her behalf. all the same, kierkegaard had an imposing effect on her -- it was not that she was not comfortable being honest with him (she was intimately comfortable with it), but rather, caiaphas worried the brutal honesty of her needs would present certain discomforts to their thus-far platonic friendship.

without skipping a beat, caiaphas leveled her gaze to him, and with confidence in her voice said: "but, i want puppies." to any astute observer, caiaphas' obsession with puppies was hardly something new -- however, this time, there was insinuation in her voice that had never been present before.

This is crap. <3

“But, I want puppies.”

His mouth gaped like a dullard and he stared at her, unblinking, for several long moments. Kierkegaard knew that he should not have been as shocked as he appeared. He had coaxed it out of her, after all, but he had imagined that she would quiet him with a few quips and change the subject before admitting it. A stirring inside of him caused discomfort and he felt his face burn hot beneath his slate-colored pelt. Clearing his throat and pulling his gaze from her face, the brute breathed deep and steadied himself. Kierke had never been fond of children and did not imagine such resentment would change – even with his own – but he had often thought what a family with the sea witch would have been like.

After several long moments, he flicked his gaze back to her and nodded slowly. “I... then you will have them,” he fumbled for a moment, but when he finally found his words they were offered with confidence. The old brute only wondered how Wylla would take to the young running in her pack, or if there was a chance that she would decline them altogether. It didn't matter, though; Kierke was growing old and it would not be long before he would not be able to assist in the production of children. It was then or never.

she held him in her gaze, but he turned away as if abashed by her declaration. certainly, it was a significant one -- she would allow him time to reel from the gravity (and the responsibility tethered to it) of her words.

she examined the vague area his gaze had fallen to. cracked flowstone, fissures rimed with crystalline deposits -- a hardened, paw-polished floor. he cleared his throat and she brought her gaze back up to his own, seeking an answer.

then you will have them. an assured smile played across her snipey features, and she sucked in the cold air with a relieved breath. it had been her life's work -- the obsession in which she bent the entire of her existence -- to bear children. to be so close to her wish being granted was an elated sense of shaky relief. she rose up on her thin limbs, and having never been a wolf to beat around the bush she canted her muzzle and pulled to him with far more fearlessness than she truly felt.

"you know what to do, then." perhaps the prospect seemed bizarre to kierkegaard -- certainly, she propositioned him out of her own selfish desires and not his own. in her eyes he had exemplified the prerequisite the siren queen needed: male, and tolerable enough that close proximity did not outrage her. they had existed alongside each other for so long, shared countless meals, and hollowed out a bleak existence on that stony shore. the prospect of intimacy with him seemed nearly natural. plus, he was possibly the only male in caiaphas' life she did not harbor deep-rooted derision for. 

it was not the first time their bodies touched, though it was the first time the siren queen initiated it for her own wants. she closed the gap and rested her flank against his, studying him for his reception of her rather bold advancement.

There was a moment in which the ashen figure believed that he was dreaming – he had washed ashore somewhere and this was the heaven that he had conjured. The hope that she would willingly allow him to touch her in any means that resembled intimacy was astounding, but he did not stand long to mull these thoughts through his mind. As she allowed her flank to touch against his own, the ghost peered at her with warm honey eyes and moved to take her.

Kierkegaard had followed her for as long as he had known her, and he would not regret acting as her careful shadow. There was not much more that he could have accomplished at his age, and so he had nothing more that he wished to venture out and seek. He followed her instruction and then found himself in a tired heap of ragged fur and aching bones.