Ankyra Sound twisted nerve

Whittier had done his best to stay out of the way of the other members of the pack. He had taken to patrolling borders more on his own now rather than with Kjalarr behind him playing the part of slave driver. It had become a routine for him, and had the two-fold benefit of distracting him from his starvation and giving him an excuse to retain his solitude. He burned still over the knowledge of his father's presence in the Wilds, but that was a dull ache to the regret it had inspired in him over ever leaving the Ridge at all. He could have stayed if he'd realized Allure would not need him. He could have stayed and been happy, comfortable. Fed. But no, he was here, starving amidst this band of strangers.

And Jorunn, of course.

A roaring howl of frustration sprang from Whittier as he failed for what was likely the 357th time at catching a fish to eat. Bitterly he strode from he shallows towards the sandy shore with nothing to show for his hours of effort but a drenched coat and heightened sense of self-loathing. He shook his coat vigorously, sending droplets of water flying in a cloud about him before turning and glaring back out across the sea, a string of curses trailing fluidly and loudly from his muzzle.

Whittier was unaware that he was placed at that moment precariously within range of the spider until her scent came suddenly to him, and he turned to set his gaze upon her spindly form like a stretched out clump of seaweed upon the sand. He swallowed and debated running, but in the end simply stood there hoping she might just pass him right by.