Ankyra Sound no need to drive me crazy, i'm close enough to walk

looking for short interactions. all are welcome.

Lusca cautiously negotiated the starfish-abounded rocks of the tide pool, leaping in and out of the way of the predictably lurching tide as it rose to lap against her feet. She set aside her fear of the sea in favor of the hunger worrying her insides––her status as Omega afforded her little margin to partake when it came to food, and she often caught snatches of teeth and sharp corrections when she plucked up the courage to include herself in the frenzied bustle of infrequent group feedings. 

Thus, her preservation impulses––an instinct she presumed obsolete––had made her particular about frivoling away calories on otiose activities; namely important things like socializing and less important things like doing Caiaphas' bidding. Most days, she spent her days scheming foul play. And, on other days, like this one, she had a go at trolling the tide pools for quarry. And with nothing to show for it, either; never once had merciful success found her.

Her eyes lit up, head aslant and ears gunned forward with rapt interest as sculpins darted, quick as a lamplighter, throughout the small passages of the rock. They weren't the salmon that her captors laid hold of, but her hunger was indiscriminate in that regard. A whistling whine keened in her throat, frustration building whilst she watched those selfishly live fish thrid just inches from her position on the slaggy mainstay.  

Closer; closer; closer she crept; as close as she could get with her chin hovering over the water. And, as one could anticipate, the moment she tried to dab the surface of the water with her nose, luck sidestepped her advances and her feet lost their purchase on the rocks. Lusca's body contorted, claws scrabbling and trying to cling to the slab, but as though the invisible, denying sole of a boot was pressed into her face, she immediately dropped like a ripe fruit into the water. 

Flailing and splashing and paddling fiercely, the wolf washed up on the shore like she was a primordial polliwog evolving for the first time, lank frame logged with water and saturated to the bone. It was a slow and bitter retreat––eons of nature's industrial influence undone in such an small timeframe. A humbling experience, to be sure. 

Lusca shook a hind leg and flicked a paw, wrung her tailtip––sending beads of water to and fro as gloom inlaid every uptight twist in her countenance.