Ankyra Sound he aims his pistol at the sky-

On the shoreline, walking high over the white crests, shrouded by the moon and the wind. This was what she had always loved of the very very few things she’d ever loved back in her home. The ocean, just as wild and ferocious as a fire. Unpredictable, liable to kill you at any point in time, to slam you wholeheartedly into rocky shores or toss you gleefully into the mouth of sharks.

Winifred forgot this. Overconfidence leaked from her very pores like saltwater leaked down the cliffs. The water made the rocks slick, she had learned well in her youth between busted lips and bruised chins, scoldings loud and shrieking.

She could almost hear it now, the shrieking. It was getting closer. Her head jerked up from the swagger of a walk, curving skyward. A bird, gold and resplendent as her siblings.

And that’s all it took.

A misstep, striding out onto rock that was not there. A peripheral illusion, the dark water melding into the rock seamlessly.

She didn’t get the chance to make a sound more than a punched out gasp as the world gave way beneath her, claws scrambling for purchase and not able to find it. She hit the turbulent winter ocean with a mighty crack, the waves spinning her in disorienting circles. Pain dug into her body, wrapping like the chords of a great jellyfish around her back legs, shredding strips of skin off her side where the wicked claws hooked.

The ocean repaid its dues in kind.

The world simply dissolved

only bubbles remained

And dawn broke. The ocean lapped at the wounds like a kitten, like a sibling trying to say I’m sorry, crooning it to ears that didn’t hear. It pushed her up onto the beach, rolling away to lap at what it could reach. It fell from her sides and her hips like a bridal train, twisted fibers curved around her legs and sprawling across the sand, harsh metal hooks dug deep into the flayed skin of her side and her back, barbs curving up through chunks to wedge deeper. Had she been conscious, perhaps she would have thought it painful. But she wasn’t conscious.

And she wouldn’t be for a while.

lmk if i got anything wrong

In keeping the promise to his daughters, Svalinn maintained his vigil at the post of Ankyra, awaiting their return. He had made his loyalty to Sapphique known to the wolves of the cliffs but spent every minute unsure if they truly accepted him as an ally in the sound. He worried often that he would be chased from here, wondering if their suspicions of him were too great to let him stay.

He rose each day just before dawn, a soldier’s mien, and today was no different…

Except for the motionless form of a wolf washed up on shore, visible now as the sun started to peer over the horizon. Svalinn loped forward, glancing around to see no tracks nor trace of another nearby. This body had come from the sea.

He checked to see if the wolf still breathed before assessing her injuries. A strange object clung to her in different places, hooked to her like the claws of some alien cat. Svalinn grabbed her by the scruff and pulled her further up the beach, away from the icy waves that would surely keep her cold. He wondered if he should warm her first or tend to her wounds, deciding on the latter after a brief thought.

Carefully, as gently as he could, he started to pluck the metal from her skin.

She wouldn’t wake for the pull of the hooks against her skin, each tug pulling the barbs from her flesh and sending blood weeping down her sides.

In fact, it was only when the sinuous wrapping of rope touched one of her pawpads that she would jerk to life, trying to regain her feet with a weak snarl. Of course, this would not work, and down she went like a fawn trying to gain its legs. Water burbled from her mouth like she was a fountain, and her weak rasps curled into the air in the form of steam.

Wha- She tried to gurgle out, but only succeeded in a series of painful coughs that would only expel more water from her suddenly seizing lungs.

Svalinn tucked his chin defensively and stepped back when the half-drowned wolf suddenly leapt to her feet before promptly collapsing again. Water sprayed from her mouth like a backed-up faucet, and she sputtered, clearly not in control of her body or its functions at that moment.

He moved to stand in front of her. Keep your muzzle down like this, he said, making a downward motion with his head. The water will come out easier. Trying to stop it will make things worse. If she had been in the water long enough to fall unconscious, then she had likely swallowed a lot of seawater. Besides her injuries, he recognized that she might need to be treated for salt poisoning.