Totoka River positivity hitting 50 levels deep

A stiff breeze ruffled the fur on Sockeye's back as he picked through the sour, salt-crusted carcass. The shark had been there for some time, it seemed, but no seabirds had come to break it open. The shark had bloated and the meat had turned, but Sockeye had never been a picky eater, and was less so now that he had no fishing partner to fall back on. There was plenty of meat here, and he had a mind to eat his fill before the crabs came to polish it off.

When his belly was full to the bursting, he waded into the cool waters of the river and laid down in the shallows to clean his paws. Sand clung to the steely fur of his back , but he ignored that in favor of washing the blood and grit from his face. Sand was a fact of life, but rotting shark scent didn't have to be. Still, the scent clung to him when he stood and shook out his pelt. He'd have to find something else to roll in if there was to be any hope of clearing his nares. The male headed off in search of this something else, moving inland toward the grassy hills, but keeping his ears tipped toward the ocean, lest he somehow lose track of the dull, grey waves.

The wind ruffled her coat, battering against her slim face as if to catch the wisp in its grasp and blow her away to another foreign land. Grass brushed against the curve of her belly - sunken even further in with the trials of living alone. She was not so diminished, rather she just appeared to have missed one too many meals. The scrub grass soon gave way to gritty sand that pooled up and over her small feet with each step. She maneuvered her way through the dunes with as much as grace as she could muster; lowering her neck so as to sniff the ground. The horizon - a stretch of sand and low sheets of grey clouds - seemed barren at first glance but soon yielded the scent and appearance of a corrupted shark at the bank of a river. Nym - having eaten worse - stopped to fill her belly with the rancid meat despite the taste. 

When The Reaper had eaten as much as she could stomach, a flash of her tongue was seen licking her chops before she was off again. The scent of a male was strong around the corpse and she had no desire to linger and reveal that she had eaten from it. The Night Stalker was counting on the river she treaded through to sluice off the scent of most of her meal. She could smell the same male even as she moved on, the sound of the waves growing louder with every step. He was but a blip on the horizon at first, only standing out amongst the sand because of the rich brown of his coat. 

Nym approached, a silent but curious investigator, her pale snout turned up to catch his scent on the air. She held herself carefully neutral - without any real fear. A soft noise of greeting fell from her maw, a sound not unlike the chirp of a wildcat.

The male paused when an odd sound reached his ears, turning his head to regard the small shewolf that stood several yards away. Surprise briefly colored his stern features - he'd not expected that sound to come from a wolf - but soon fell away as his usual expression of blithe indifference took over. He let out a low woof of his own, his tail swaying idly behind him. Yeah? What do you need?

He'd not seen many wolves in the area just yet, though he'd scented plenty. None of them were the wolf he was looking for, so he hadn't stopped to introduce himself. Here, though, with the woman in his sights, he decided that a bit of company wouldn't be unwelcome. Perhaps he could learn a bit about the area, even.

The male stood his ground and gazed steadily at the other, his body language loose and welcoming.

The girl didn't typically approach but this one didn't seem likely to be hiding a vicious streak beneath his kind eyes.

She was as lost in these lands as he was and seeking the same thing - directions or even just a name for this place she'd found herself in. These lands that didn't seem to have any place for a Nomad or a Night Stalker, perhaps a name would help her understand what she would need to be next to survive. 

He waits for her in welcome and she stalks forward, head low, halting some wary feet away as she sniffs his scent. 

"W..Where?" she manages brokenly, a furrow forming between her sunshine gaze. She's not sure he'll understand what she's asking but it's worth a shot.

Sock didn't understand. Where? the girl asked, and the male tried and failed to interpret her desires. Where had he come from? Where was he going? It did not occur to him that she was seeking the same answers as him, and in any case, he did not have them.

"Where what?" he asked, bemused. She seemed a friendly enough thing, although there was a certain shyness to her that the male found distasteful. He closed some of the distance between them to get a better read on the scents she carried and was surprised to find foreign spores upon her snowy pelt. It seemed he was not the only one new to the area. "Where'd you come from, then?" he asked curiously, for the scents she carried were not ones he was familiar with.

Her question is met with confusion and the girl feels her heart fall the tiniest bit at the annoyance she perceives in his gaze. He approached and Nym could do little else but let him, watching with guarded tension as he neared. 

"Where...here? This?" The Night Stalker struggled to express her thoughts, the words tinged with her feral upbringing. 

"North. Night Stalkers," she answered as best she could, trying and failing to explain that she hailed from one of the fiercest charters that spanned the north. 

"Ah," said Sockeye, finally understanding. Unfortunately, he had very little to say on the matter. "I'm not sure. You're the first I've stopped to talk to, and I'm not from the area." The whole area seemed a popular haunt for coastal wolves, though, so he was sure he'd fall in with good company soon enough. He'd find out more about the area later.

Automatically, his head turned north when she mentioned the direction. Night Stalkers. The term was unfamiliar and vitually meaningless to the male. A pack name, he assumed. "I'm from up the coast," he offered in turn. North, but he'd never crossed paths with the Night Stalkers before.

He finally caught on and she smiled, just the tiniest bit. Her face fell some when he revealed, in a string of confusing words, that he didn't know where they were either. She sighed, nodding in acceptance. 

She watched his head turn but it was clear that he was unfamiliar with the charter. Nym didn't bother enlightening him, he probably wouldn't understand what she was saying anyhow. "Thanks," she finally said, albeit awkwardly, in response.

Sockeye have a gentle smile. "Welcome," he replied, but he was not really sure what he was being thanked for. The girl seemed a bit quiet and odd, and Sock wasn't keen on sticking around to see what was wrong with her.

"Well - have a good one," he said in a crisp but friendly manner, turning and heading on his way.

She watched with empty golden eyes as he departed, clearly uncomfortable with the feral girl who had never quite learned how to speak. His eyes said the same thing she had always seen in others: that he thought her odd, weird, a freak. 

Once he was gone, Nym allowed herself a small sigh before continuing on her way. The wind was salty and cool, tangling in her thick coat as she began to lope in the opposite direction - soon forgetting the encounter entirely.