Wheeling Gull Isle he hapalua ia o ka honua,

I rlly, rlly hope this isn't trespassing...but if it is feel free to yeet all territorialism his way. :3

The first thing that the Dogo became aware of was a dull piercing in the pad of his left paw's palm, a sharp needling that punctured his unconscious state and tugged at the edges of the black void that had swallowed his mind. It took several slow, heavy thuds of his heart (he could feel each individual throb like the far away pounding of a war drum) before he located his eyelids -- or even remembered that he possessed such anatomy -- and several more before he could open them. They shut almost immediately again as a bare hint of a hiss left his lips, wincing against the soft but still smarting light of clouds smattered across the morning sky. Squinting, the mer did his best to blink back the tears stinging his dry eyes, brow furrowing and frown forming upon his stern lips as venomous green eyes fell to his paw -- just as another stinging pinch was felt. 

A small creature...a crab, the word came to him slowly, rising amidst a plume of silver bubbles to bob at the surface of his turbulent thoughts. He stared for a moment, emerald gems peering down dully at the place where its chela was clamped to the fleshy brown pad of his paw -- still a bit befuddled from washing ashore -- as its other waved through the air in a threatening arc. Before the wolfdog could puzzle out his next move, he was forced to his paws regardless of his crustacean passenger; he had no choice in the matter, his body suddenly consumed by wrenching spasms as he wretched seawater onto the sand. When it was over, he weaved as he turned in confusion to take stock of his hindleg which was close to buckling under him. 

A gash curved around the back of his ankle, before bending and trailing up the length of his foreleg -- ending near his haunch where it was slightly deeper. It was no longer bleeding and didn't seem life-threatening, as his pale coat was crusted with gritty substrate from the beaches, dried salt, and rusted blood. But it was serious, and would at least require cleaning if not medical treatment. The mute hadn't quite taken a full stock of his surroundings and hadn't noticed the scents that the wind carried to him, dazed as he was. It was a struggle for him to remain on his feet at the moment, let alone think of anything else -- for he was currently unaware of the matching wound at his temple, ruby staining the mocha swath of his masked features.

First things first, came his decision as he felt another painful stab in his foot. Getting this damn crab off of him. He had to sit in order to bend and pry the angry crab from his skin, for fear that the dizzying waves that were still sending the isle spiraling around him would make him topple over like tropical trees caught in the gales of a sea storm. He wouldn't have been able to eat the thing with his world spinning on its axis, even if he had wanted to fight to crack the crab's hard exterior, so he flung it away unceremoniously once he'd gotten it off -- and immediately regretted it when his stomach roiled in protest. 

It was only then that he turned on weak legs to drink in the monolith at the hart of the island, and the pines clustering its plateaus and summits in protective groves, a yawning abyss forming in his mind as the amnesiac tried to remember what had happened or how he got there.

As many a time before did Aiolos watch down the beachside as he rounded the outskirts of his home. The news of the many deaths upon the mainland had plagued him, the loss of those gone on his own land made his gut stir. He found comfort in his treks around the island, found the sound of the waves and the rolling of saltwater over his ankles soothing. He was lost in his own thoughts, allowing them to take him elsewhere. Allow them to tear him away from the sorrows of life which weighed on him.

Then, a form along the beach captured his attention, bringing him back to the realities he could only escape for so long. Instantly his thoughts lingered to Jaime and how he too had been left battered and bruised on their beach. This man looked nothing like the young, petite coywolf that once had lived here and yet he too did not look completely wolf either. A large beast, boxy and rounded more so then a wolf. His facial features too were off and Aiolos found his structure reminding him something akin to Kynareth...

The dark red hairs along his nape began to prickle and the Greek moved forward toward's the large, pale wraith which came washed up along their coastline. Your not the first our Sea has chewed up and spit out onto our shore. Aiolos murmured as he came nearer, mindful to keep a safe distance should the injured half-breed become agressive by his own need for survival on stranger tides. I'm sure not the last, either. He then mused, fiery amber eyes moving over the length of his injuries- to his back leg up his flank and the gash over his brow. Perhaps the Sea has reason to bring you to our borders.

thanks for joining! <3 (just a quick note, Holo is deaf and mute.)

At first, he didn't notice the island dweller, as the russet man had approached from the side -- out of his peripherals. A flicker of red, not that of the colorful leis and plant life on his beloved island but a color that was closer to a gingery rust or old blood maybe, caught his eye. The mute whipped towards the man in surprise with wide eyes, swaying slightly on his feet as the ground lurched beneath him -- or seemed to anyways. 

The man was speaking but he maintained a fair distance, his whiskey gaze careful and watchful from his perch some feet away from Holo. His stance was dominant but neutral -- a clustering of scents carried to the wolfdog amidst a cologne of testosterone. A leader then. 

Holokai lowered his ears, the short appendage of his dark tail curling down towards the space between his legs as dipped himself to stand just a little lower. A chocolate-colored tongue swept over his lip, a guttural, placating noise escaping him. 

I'm not a threat.

Well this should prove interesting. :)

A sudden recognition, the stranger washed up at his doorstep met his attention, wide-eyed, swaying in his placement as he struggled to keep his footing from beneath him. And so then does he fall. Not so in a literal since, though his ears atop his skull would flatten, his shortened brown tail tucking between his limbs and his masked face lowering, a flick of his tongue outward. Submission and silence. Aiolos would be left to wonder if the sudden shock of waking up here had captured his tongue or if it was an inability to speak all together.


Can you speak? If he could not, a nod would do but it had not yet been a thought to the red wolf that this man did not have the ability to hear either. Given the man's display, Aiolos felt no further need to present himself with dominance. His head remained high and his stance a proud one, though his own tail remained rested between his back legs and the hairs along his russet nape settled down. Technically this man was trespassing but as Jaime before him it was obviously by no fault of his own ill decision.


Without Natshana here any longer, Aiolos was uncertain who he should rely on for help in this situation. Not only did the man have some large injuries, likely from being battered around on the rocks, it was also in the middle of winter. If the stranger was not suffering from hypothermia just yet, there was a good chance he soon still very may. The combination of open wounds and winter surely to put the man's desire for survival to the test. If he did live, he was a tough one, that was for certain.

The tarnished man of red before Holo is a cunning one to connect the dots so quickly even if it is lost on the Dogo what exactly he says. There are signs for those keen enough to read them -- this male amongst their numbers perhaps -- that would indicate his inability to hear what is asked of him: the way his sharp ears remain lowered in submission without even a hint of a flicker, the way his granny smith eyes flicker blankly over Aiolos' noble features. They flit to the leader's lips as he poses the question, curious. But he's never had much luck puzzling out what the shape of another's words are.

He watches for some sort of visual cue, letting out another soft keening noise -- canine but wordless. There's sentience in his verdant eyes and a willingness that speaks of silent intelligence but communication is clearly impossible. The pale dreadnought lowers himself as best he can, just a smidge. Just enough that he can dip into a brief, almost playful bow, and thump one paw on the sand. 

I'll follow if you'll lead. 

Nothing. Aiolos didnt get any kind of recognition from the man which stood on shaken limbs before him. So, just to get the possibilities out of the way, Aiolos would say "hello" to the stranger in both Greek and Mandarin. It was all he had left to try. If the man spoke a different language other then this, likely his tongue would release such. Nothing still.

Alright. He decided, knowing that trying to communicate in that manner was of no use now. Perhaps someone more trained could confirm the red leader's suspicions that he could only not understand his words but could not hear them, either.

So instead Aiolos would throw his upper half down to the ground as the other wolf did. Both front paws stomped the sands and he stands once more suddenly erect, ears and tail high as he quick steps unto the other male's direction, both dominant and playful. He would let the man know certain he was leader here but he was also a friendly and understanding wolf.

Holokai watches curiously for another moment as the other's lips form another indecipherable shape. Then, something he can understand as Aiolos smacks the sand with his forepaws in a similar gesture, his ears and tails flagging with dominance as he darts toward the wolfdog. Holo's dark tail  whips from side to side as he lowers instinctively -- one paw raising as his liver-colored tongue rasps at his chops and the air in submission. 

It was a start at least, Holokai's lower body wiggling faintly with the occasional repressed wag of  excitement. His movements expressive as they must be, being his only method of communication. I understand. You're in charge.

After a moment, he straightened just a little bit -- pale ears half-rising as he cocked his head curiously. His jade gaze swept to the side over their surroundings with apparent fascination before moving back to the russet islander before him. What is this place? 

His signs of submission remained- his tongue darting from his lips, a paw raised as an offering and his tail lowered, whipping back and forth in between his legs. He was both excited and understanding of his place as a stranger at their doorstep. But what to do with him, exactly? Aiolos knew the man to be obviously endured. He needed rest and recovery though without being able to speak to the other wolf, he would not be able to ask if he planned on staying. Perhaps the wolf would rummage through their caches, sleep in their beds and then be gone before anyone had any say in it. Perhaps too he might have realized he had washed up here because the Goddesses made it so that this were to be his new home.

Aiolos takes a step back from the other wolf then, the burning amber of his gaze moving with the summer green of his own. Yuelong. He knows the other could not understand it, but there was no way of getting around it when it came to the name of his home. A single paw lifts then, moving outward at the bend and then pressing to his own chest. This was home. 

Aiolos then turns back to the pale stranger and in doing so with every intent to keep his eye on him, he takes a few steps forward towards the more central parts of the island. He woofs and his muzzle juts into the direction of the small peak at its center. The red wolf then walks closer back toward shore then and past Holokai, jutting his nose then to the sandbar. The sandbar which connected the island to the mainland and off of Yuelong territory. Then alas, his attention placed back to the wolfdog and he shrugs- which would he choose? To stay or to leave?

The fisherman watches with rapt attention but try as he might, the name of this land evades him -- still, the cur tries to commit the shape of it to memory, understanding that it holds some importance, hoarding it like a dragon might its gold or a pirate its bounty. He will keep it tucked away with the other words he cannot speak but treasures regardless. Akela, Holokai, Yuelong. 

Poisonous verdant optics of lime follow the man's movements, understanding this isle -- Yuelong -- to be the red leader's claim. Holo dipped his pale, blood-stained head in acceptance again. It was clear to the wolfdog that this place was of great importance to him -- another word he cannot say but knows in the depths of his heart. Home.

Sensing the question posed to him, the beachcomber limps toward the monolith that beckons from the center of the terrritory. For a moment, his gaze lifts beyond Aiolos and the waves breaking against the shore that brought him here -- to the mainland and its mysteries. He gives a definitive shake of his head. He will stay, if allowed. The mute dips again, then straightens and sweeps a paw at their surroundings as best he can on his unsteady legs. At last, he points back to himself -- using almost exactly the same gestures the former Nereides wolf implemented. 

Your home. Holo's home too?

A sweep of his paw and to his chest. A willingness to stay and continue on despite his injuries. Luckily the blood had stopped flowing, the salty water likely doing well to clean it. He needed rest, food and if anyone hold the skill for it, someone to help push his wounds to heal quicker.

Aiolos woofed and then pushed further and out of the openness and chill of the open beachside. They had their own little forestry here on the island and a rocky shelter made by the hillside. Closer into the heart of the island was the den in which Natshana had once used as her infirmary. From here he jutted his muzzle to the den opening and after which, would call out to his packmates of the newcomers arrival. Maybe someone would come if they could and assist. Maybe they would meet the wolfdog later. Either way Aiolos wanted to make sure that Holokai needn't try to explain his reasoning for being here when it obviously could not.

But what to call their new follower? Aiolos guessed it didnt matter, given the fact that the newcomer not only couldnt understand it, but didnt seem to be able to hear it, either. Drifter. Aiolos then decided allowed. The name seemed fitting in a few different ways. One, was that he was a stranger, a wanderer, having been taken adrift and brought here to their borders. Another was that he was pale, bleached out of color savor a few splashes of brown. Beach driftwood was pale and creamy like his coat but the same wood he had seen inland in the bogs of his birth home, it was a smooth brown such as his markings. And, as large as he was, maybe he was as strong as wood, too.

The dreadnought limped after Aiolos as he led the way further inland, seemingly satisfied with what they had managed to establish between them so far, finding that the movement tugged at his wound but otherwise was not so hindering. It was only the size of the gash that made it so cumbersome now, and Holo thanked whatever gods had watched over him that he had not drowned -- that his wounds had not been more life-threatening. He was still a bit slow and groggy, from whatever had caused him to wind up in the sea's grasp, from blood loss, from shock, the cold, or a combination of various elements, the drifter could not be sure. 

He followed behind his newfound leader, easily falling into the place of a subordinate -- truly, he didn't seem to fit the mold required of leadership and was content to allow his rusted savior to take charge. He dipped his pale head to the various others he was introduced to, offering them the same cheerfulness and submission he had so readily given to their overseer. And though he could not hear the new name that was gifted to him by the Yuelong wolves, he glanced to Aiolos as he was dubbed "Drifter" -- giving a small smile of gratitude and a few joyful wags of his short tail in return.