Sea Lion Shores samsara

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He had almost given in to the seductive call of the sea, succumbing to the kiss of its waves, a foamy licking that would wash the caked blood from his fur. His legs tensed to carry him forward, but an unfamiliar scent soon flashed into his nares, and Lecter turned to see a lithe black shadow watching him, feminine and with inquiry in her eyes.

Curling his lip at the distraction, the weatherwitch halted his clawing of the sand-covered shell and regarded her implacably, his eyes cold. Lecter felt no need to share with her what he was doing, and just before him the sea crashed most invitingly.

And so, with a last lingering glance at his unwanted company, the man ducked into the shallows, teeth bared at the cold. Wading slowly until the water lapped against his shoulders, Lecter ducked momentarily beneath the surf, allowing the brine to scour every inch of his body. Around him, the sea reddened, flakes of long-dried blood washing onto the sand.

"It is best to bathe at high tide," he called suddenly to the wolf who was presumably still upon shore and within earshot. "The waters are rougher and give more of a cleansing." Whether or not she would listen was her own affair; the shaman padded out onto the cold sand, dripping pink water; he set his stance and churned his body until the majority of the cold liquid had flung from his pelt, and set to grooming down the untidy spikes of fur that covered his body and stuck up in all directions.

set by sophie