Ankyra Sound river turns to dust

Finally she can no longer keep her discovery from her mind, and she finds herself pulled back to the coast. The wild-furred yearling retraces her steps to the shoreline slowly, knowing as soon as her feet touch the sand that she will not find what she is looking for. The scent is gone completely by now; all she has is the faint memory of it, burned permanently into her skull.
She tips her head back and calls for her sister anyway, a low, sustained note. It pierces the thick morning fog and rings out over the cold blue sea, but there is no response. She tells herself she'd known better than to expect one. She tells herself she's known for a long time. Even these thoughts can't stop the sting of tears gathering in her eyes; they do not spill over, but momentarily her eyes sting with heat. She closes them, and in time it passes.

For one reason or another, he returned to the scene where he had lost everything. He realized now that he was not at his lowest when he lost those who did not care for him at the Abyss. He realized that losing someone who actually cared hurt a whole lot worse.

Grey eyes glazed over as he stared out into the waters. Somewhere out in its depths was likely the remainder of what he yearned to have back. Once or twice he contemplated swimming out there -- seeing just how far out he could get before his legs would cramp -- but slowly talked himself out of it.

He stumbled back away from the foggy shore and was already on his way back home when he hears the call. Something about it called to him even when it did not call for him. He hesitated for a moment before he tipped his head back and returned a wobbly croaky call so the original caller would know they were not entirely alone.

It was them, him and the secrets in the depth of the ocean.

Just as she's ready to turn away for the last time, her call is answered. It's faint and unfamiliar. Her fur stands on end, shiver running down her spine. She's frozen in place, uncertain; has she imagined it? The seconds tick by.
Finally, she lifts her muzzle again to return the call. Now it's questioning, beckoning. She turns from the shoreline numbly, stiff with cold and melancholy. Her first few steps toward the source are tentative — she can't be certain it's the right direction. She can't be certain it's real. The yearling halts altogether, then, and waits to hear a second response if one will come.

The voice echoed back to him and for a moment he thinks it's his own before he noticed the obvious. It was the one that started the call. He calls back once again and he finds his voice is a bit steadier this time around, as if he's found his footing.

He fumbles through the fog to find the source. Small chuffs escape him here and there to alert the other in case he's finally close. Who is the face behind the call? Perhaps he is foolish to go fumbling out into the unknown again but...well, what does he have left to lose?

Again the call is returned, and relief washes over her. She moves toward the treeline carefully, nose lifted slightly. It occurs to her to call again, but she doesn't; she's certain she's going the right way now. She catches his scent in the next beat and turns to follow it.
The inkstain picks through the fog with keen eyes, aware she's closing the distance between them. Soon a shape materializes, and she registers a chuff over the crashing of the waves. She returns it, halting just as she's able to make out his features. Nothing she can recognize, but something about him is... haunted. She's intrigued.

Silver eyes finally picked out the ink blotch against the hazy backdrop. His eyes drunk in her form as if she might bring back his life alas he found he was just as empty as before. If not more. He was foolish to think he could find any solace here. There was nothing here anymore. Besides his haunting memories of course.

Why? He asked the inky female in hushed, careful tones. The why implied a good pawful of questions but he was letting her pick how to answer the question.

She takes a few steps closer, and his eyes make her breath catch. Why, he asks, but all she can do is stare for a moment.
My sister, She answers, voice thick, and swallows. There's a faint tremble to her limbs now, perhaps not because of the cold. She was here, once; I caught the last traces of her scent almost a fortnight ago. There's more she wants to say, but everything dies on the tip of her tongue. She can't pour her heart to a stranger, one whose face is still slightly hazy through the fog.
She has eyes like yours, She murmurs finally, barely audible, and her chest aches.

His tanned ears push forward with interest before they slick back against his skull. The details she gave would have been vague to another but he had lived through the details. He chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek, silver gaze staring out into the foggy seas. What was he to say? What was he to do? The cursed weren’t know to have very good diplomatic skills nor advisor skills.

Was... His voice grew small and a lump built in his throat. Lainie? He hoped he was wrong. He hoped that another stranger had waltzed through here at the same time they had been here, who also had grey eyes. He prayed that fate was finally on his side for once. Rokig could not keep being the bearer of bad news.

Her chest tightens as the stranger's expression changes. She hardly needs to hear his next words to make the connection, but when she does her throat suddenly feels constricted too. For several beats she's silent, studying him as if she might glean answers from his features.
Lainie, She repeats finally, a name so familiar on her tongue despite going unspoken for so long. Lainie Archana Tipp. I'll never see her again, will I? She pauses to sigh. Don't tell me what happened to her. Tell me your name. Tell me how you know her. She turns and gestures for him to follow her, and leads him back to the shoreline.

He didn’t ever find out Lainie’s full name but...well he’d have to guess that’s it only because this female claims to be the sister. His head gives a soft shake at her question, finding his voice hiding behind the lump in his throat. He should have turned around and gone home at that. Instead, he stupidly followed after her. He ignored the part of his brain that said ”Hey, what if she wants revenge for her dead sister or something?”

Rokig. I originally found her and took her back to my pack so she could get better. And instead she got so horribly worse. He must have had some kind of reverse Midas touch. I took care of her till the end. He said weakly as the glazed look seemed to sweep over his eyes again.

She listens quietly as she leads him back to the ocean, halting where the water just barely reaches her toes as it crashes in. She hadn't wanted to know her fate, not for sure, but there's no mistaking his words. There's another pause before she finds the right words. Thank you, She murmurs, taking a breath. I appreciate it, and I'm certain she did as well.
The yearling lets another brief silence stretch between them before she turns to him again, scarlet eyes dull with grief. You cared for her. I'm sorry, She looks away and swallows again, but her throat remains tight and aching. Her heart is twisting in her chest, burning up with a feeling all too familiar. It's how you know you're alive, she thinks through the haze of grief, the dead don't mourn their own state, do they?
Will you... keep me company? The question is quiet, tone unreadable. She's too raw to care that it's odd; in some way, he's the last piece of Lainie she has, and she's reluctant to let go just yet. A moment later, she adds, I understand if you can't.

The thankful words fall upon deaf ears. Rokig opted to not acknowledge it because he couldn't bring himself to feel worthy of such words. There was so much more he should have done. He merely kept his jaw closed tightly as his tongue hid behind his grinding teeth.

He struggled to meet her scarlet gaze, his lips pursed briefly. Tanned ears fluttered back against his skull. She shouldn't be apologizing to him, he knew that much. He should have apologized to her but words feel stupidly heavy in his mouth.

Finally he managed to say something. Okay. He breathed in a soft response to her question. Not for long but...for now. Rokig would have to go home soon enough, he could not stray from Undersea once again.

She nods slowly; she can't stay long either, but the scant time they have is worth it to her. He could be anyone — it doesn't matter now. She just can't be alone. The yearling allows the rest of their time together to pass in silence, heavy and aching. Perhaps it's foolish, to stew in their misery together, feeding off one another — but by the time they part, she thinks she feels a little lighter. At least for the moment.