Firefly Glen sailed out of harwich

@Hydra

The rolling sea paled in comparison to the billowing clouds, most of which appeared as if they'd sucked the air right out of the atmosphere and held it deep within their thick, dark bodies; eddies of bulbous white drifted, collided, swirled together as if the air was angry, possessed by the spirit of a wild sea that demanded to be returned to the earth. Soon enough the sky was ripping — there came a mighty yawn, a spidering light, and then the world was engulphed by the raging typhoon of the spring storm.

— —

The flash of light caught in his amber eyes as they flew open, glassy from the dream. He could still hear the booming of the waves upon stone — the flash of light he thought was lightning turned out to be the sun cutting sharply through an array of leaves in the canopy. His pupil contracts on contact and he, huffing and puffing, tilts his head in to the shade with a grimace. The wolf rolled from one side to the other, propped himself up on his belly, and tried to stand.

As soon as his long limbs were propped beneath his haggard body he felt a little better; however, as he lifted himself hastily to his feet, the world began to spin around him. He got glimpses of vibrant foliage — plants that he'd never seen before, things that would never survive along the harsh coast — and as he took one stumbling step, he was acutely aware of how much his head was pounding.

The ground was then, rather suddenly, coming closer and closer. He smacked his chin as he went down; the next boom was a dull thump as his body hit the dirt, and around him there was a cacophony as hidden birds took flight, spooked by his presence. He moans, rolling over to his back, and can be heard mumbling: Feckin' — tha's the last time I drink yer grog, Ripper. Goddamn pissbaby — urrghh... Although the individual he's referring to doesn't seem to be present.

WHAT LUCK IS THIS?!?!

The day was, for the most part, clear; Hydra had descended from Moonspear to survey the Glen. Terance had stayed away, and so too had those of his pack since they had met. The relief she felt was palpable; it was true that she did not wish any within that pack ill any longer. It did not mean that if any of them came to this place that she would not act swiftly and efficiently to make it perfectly clear that they were not welcome so near to their home. Whatever it took to make that point, she would do it. She thought of her new brothers and sisters, braver and bolder than the last litter her parents had brought to the world. Any who threatened her family would become lambs for her slaughter.

There was a figure in the distance that Hydra observed, though they were by their lonesome. The Beta was guarded and observant of her surroundings as she moved nearer. She was given pause as they fell, and her ears pricked as she caught the tail-end of his words. The accent was a foreign one to her, and Hydra sniffed at the oncoming breeze. Salt, she detected. No hint of Rannoch, Terance, Wraen, or the others. She relaxed considerably, though this was not saying too much; she was aloof, as ever, but her interest in him became far less violent.

The stranger rolls onto their back, and Hydra glances to the flock of birds he had spooked to the point of their departure. The being looked to be carefree, a man without enemies—she looked to his soft and exposed underbelly, and looked away. Though he did not appear to be a threat, he could be one—but what she considered was brief and shortlived. The Glen was no ones hunting grounds but for Moonspear, if they wanted, but it was free land otherwise. And he was not so close that she would think him to be a man with malicious intent.

She did not approach him, not wanting him to assume the worst and come for her with teeth; instead, Hydra chuffed from where she stood, bright eyes keen upon him.

Upon hearing the eruption of birds from the surrounding trees, the wolf sighed and slumped in to the soil as if his energy had taken flight as well. He sat there for a second in a positively livid state of mind - grumbling to himself, cursing, and moaning softly due to the pressure that had built up in his thick skull. Once the pity party was over (minutes later) he let out one last slurred comment and then tried to get up. His rear end came up first, positioning him in a strange pseudo- play bow of sorts, long tail arched over his back for a moment before it limply dropped across his hocks. As the wolf began to steady himself for another attempt at "upright-ness", he heard movement in the green — and a chuff — which prompted him to hurry along with the process.

He was on his feet in seconds, shooting daggers at the silhouette as he found it, and rather roughly declared, Oi there, ya dung muncher! Ripper ay'll give ya a new meanin' fer that name if ya get any clo—ohhh, he'd taken a few lurching steps towards Hydra with the belief it was his best mate, but obviously concluded otherwise when he got a look at her. Aye, ye ain't my pal Rip! Where you be from, then? Lurkin's all well an' good if'n yer a rat-faced slumlord, but yer a sight fer sore eyes! Pretty thing, hidin' in the forest — The more he spoke, the more he swayed, and soon he was reclining out of necessity as all that green (and the young woman before him) began to shift and sway with his vertigo.