Sea Lion Shores i will go to my own sun

the moment his paws go from solid soil to the soft suction of loamy sand, the stench of seaweed: fresh and rotting hits his nose; and beyond that another scent that he cannot quite put his paw on, accompanied as it was by what sounded like barking in the distance. the mid-morning was sunny, the skies relatively clear and the sand under paws was cool under the surface warmed by the sun. the sands gives ways to rocky shoals where massive sealions are sprawled out, basking in the sand.

though not entirely something kharybdis is accustomed to seeing, he blinks at the ugly hairless, whiskered beasts; feeling his lip curling in disgust as he realizes that he's placed that unidentified scent clinging unpleasantly to the scent of ( rotting ) seaweed — strewn about as if the sea had vomited upon the shore. ignoring the sealions, the furie inspects a tangle of seaweed, pushing thru the thick emerald green leaves to find a fish gasping at the air, flopping about as he removes the very thing that was keeping it half-alive.

though fish do not rank high on his list of favored snacks, he lets out a low rumble and snatches it in his jaws, wincing as it summons enough energy to smack his muzzle with its spiny tail. he drops it, places a paw on it and begins to dig into it ( out of petty spite ). during his visits with lerna to ensure she had things firmly under control on their conquered state, she had insisted that he learn fishing with her and that he dine upon them while in her domain.

he polishes off the fish, dragging his tongue across the roof of his mouth, having to deal with the fact that he'd have seafish breath for a while.

He spent the early part of the day heckling sea lions alongside Yolo. They enjoyed throwing objects at the beasts–so ungainly on land, compared to the pair of foxes–and taunting them with words (like a recycled “happy birthday, honey!”). But then one caught his brother by the tip of his tail, biting it off cleanly, and it forced the brothers to retreat so Yeet could clean the wound. He made fun of Yolo’s stumpy tail between licks, of course.

While Yolo slept off his big day, Yeet ventured back toward the beach in search of more fun. He stopped and stared when he spotted a wolf tugging a fish out of a tangle of seaweed like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. That was impressive, though Yeet was a lot more intrigued by the wolf’s looks.

Tromping up to him, the cross fox shouted, “DAD? IS THAT YOU?!”

the sound of the fox's footfalls, lost to the greedy sands that shift underweight, in the ever present roar of the tide as it crashes upon the shore, and in the sound of tearing scales and crunching fragile fishbones as kharybdis messily tears into the snack. it isn't until the shout — something about dad and you — carries across the salty seabrine and the movement caught out of the corner of the furies' eye alerts him to the fox's presence.

hackles bristle along his spine, kharybdis' paw slaps down on the fish he had all but finished off ( the good parts anyway ), and a low warning growl rumbles in his chest; teeth snapping in the direction of the fox like a cobra's strike to warn him away from the fish.

❝den eímai o patéras sou❞. the draconian tongue of his people passes betwixt his lips, stained with blood and little bits of fishflesh he hasn't bothered to yet clean off. of course he wasn't, he has only just turned old enough to sire cubs and beyond that there wasn't anyway he sired a fox. not father. he grunts in broken common; eyes watching the fox's movements carefully, not trusting him around his food ( regardless that it had required very little work from kharybdis and there was hardly anything left worth being possessive over logically ).

Yeet didn’t bat an eyelash at the wolf’s defensive response. He eyed the prickled hackles and the exposed teeth with faint amusement. Wolves rarely ever reacted favorably to him, so he was quite used to such behavior.

“You are not the father,” he said agreeably, evidently channeling his inner Maury Povich. “My real dad knows a joke when he sees one. Which he should. Considering his name’s Joker.” His tongue clicked.

The wolf seemed disproportionately twitchy about what appeared to be scraps. Yeet glanced at them with disinterest, then back to the wolf. He ran his tongue over his teeth, wondering what to do or say next to really push this guy’s buttons.

There was the easy, obvious answer. Yeet went very still, returning the wolf’s glare with a deadpan stare, before feinting toward what was left of the fish.

the little prey was chatty, and kharybdis chooses to ignore most of it. though he is surprised to find that the fox spoke, nevertheless it remained that kharybdis saw him as little more than a chatty meal. it was true that he wasn't hungry now, given the fish he'd just eaten, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be later. his tongue draws across his jowls as the fox returns his deadpan stare.

you food. kharybdis offers simply, without feeling; a warning. hunting for sport hadn't ever been his style ...but was it really so different than going to war for land or food resources? surely not. as the fox feints towards the fish, kharybdis lunges towards him, teeth snapping and closing 'round thin air menacingly. a physical warning of what would happen if the fox didn't scram.

The wolf reacted exactly as Yeet predicted: he snapped at him. With a chuff of laughter, the fox sprang sprightly out of reach. The sound of teeth clicking together on thin air was always music to his ears. He laughed again, pivoting to face the wolf, eyes dancing.

“I’m only food if you can catch me,” he mocked with a few swishes of his bushy tail. “Think you can?” Yeet added with a big wink.