Ankyra Sound wasteland, baby

@Caiaphas @Vaati

His memories had dissolved to nothing, save for his name and thoughts of sea ice. It was like parts of him were being cast in to the deep water, one by one chipping away at him, becoming trapped under opaque glass sheets. He roamed far from the Wilds, falling back in to a more feral nature and losing all sense of self, of time, of knowing — until he came to the sea, and moved as if transfixed by it. Lured along by the glimmering of the tide or the ethereal sensation that he'd been here before; the sea roared, and it called to him, broke apart some of that ice and let some of his soul loose.

Now he was here, wherever that was. He'd traveled by way of the cliffside to the north, and before that had been a mountain, fields and forests. The bay that stretched on before him was something new but also old, and Larus wasn't sure what to make of the familiarity of the path. It was unsettling. It was nostalgic. It was home, but it was also so foreign — so he sulked in silence along the edge of the black pine forest, wanting very much to tempt fate and venture closer, regardless of the consequences.

The ice refused to let him budge; he was rooted to the forest, where he haunted between the trees.

there was a face caiaphas would never forget, and yet, she also never expected to see it again. like kevlyn, caiaphas had long ago put the memories and hopes of larus to bed. it had been years since the boy had graced her grotto, or been a part of her life.

that did not mean she had ever forgotten him — and when she came upon the stranger in the pine forest, her fur stood on end immediately. like witnessing some spectral event, caiaphas found her reality shifting — this aged, battered, bruised thing — was it truly tryphon?

the siren’s hawkbit eyes apprised the apparition suspiciously. larus? she ventured, watching him mistrustfully the way one might watch a spectacle they cannot believe they are seeing.

From somewhere deep in the wood, the blackness, something rose and took form. It was like staring down a leopard seal as it prowled beyond the ice; he could not move, but he could trace the approaching glow of those livid yellow eyes. The shape slunk closer and closer but he was not afraid — perhaps anticipating death, inviting it — but the face that met his gaze was something just as confusing as the rest of this vista.

A black-faced woman. The scent of brine, but nothing surfaced in his tumultuous sea of a brain.
Not until she spoke, and used the sound he identified himself with; larus, he had no idea what it meant or why it was significant, but the fact that this creature knew it was enough to make him mentally pause. To watch her with the same shrewd skepticism that she passed over him.

She was seeing a ghost — he didn't know what he was now faced with. But he dipped his head in a small nod and rested at a slouch.

for a few seconds their eyes met, one knowing, one clouded by unknowing -- caiaphas breathed evenly, though the motion of her ears betrayed her uncertainty. if this was larus, surely it was his skin only -- for the wolf who glanced back at her looked lost beyond reckoning.

for a moment the sylph felt the urge to call for others, to reinforce what she was seeing -- but how then would she explain to her company who he was? he was a ghost of her past, and none of her packmates would know him. "larus," the siren intoned again, as if to reassure herself it was indeed the boy she had once raised by the sea. "what happened to you?"

Time had wittled away at his brain and left him incredibly basic; this was evidenced by his lack of verbal response. His ears twisted as the hooded figure spoke further, clearly hearing them, but showing no understanding of language. There was a slack quality to the woman's posture that was curious to him — inviting him closer, maybe. He took her surprise as a prompt to abruptly lurch closer to her and inspect with probes and sniffs. The scent of salt was already strong in the air — along with pine — but there were little discrepancies all across her. Other wolves, children, dry dust like a cave. 

Whether she welcomed it or not Larus surveyed the jagged topography of her coat; plunged his nose a touch too close for comfort to her groin for more details, huffing and puffing and rounding about her like a curious child rather than the fearful, feral adult he had become. He did not harm her. As he withdrew, he snorted and licked his nose to help clear it of the multifaceted messages she carried upon her body — then yawned, fully disarmed. 

She was older than him. Perhaps a mother to cubs this season — perhaps beyond her prime for such things. But the forest he found was her home and so was the beach below, and as she hadn't chased him away yet, he presumed he was safe enough in the dark of the forest's fringe.

it was well documented that the siren had a vicious maternal undertow to her. even though larus was now an adult, and clearly affected in some way, the siren glanced over him protectively. she allowed his scenting of her, and once the ritual was done she canted her muzzle towards the grotto; silent and no less severe, the matriarch bid for the dark caves. there she would bring him to the rest of her crew and assign raleska to watch him.

he may not be right, but he was a part of her past and was family.