Bearclaw Valley sundown it's time to feed it

The sea witch kept his attention focused upon the water, where the cool ripples of water lapped against his long legs, splashing up onto the fur of his belly even when he heard the sound of approaching footfalls. There was an assortment of colorful rocks in the riverbed, a fish carcass, silt from mud. Some larger rocks that were slick and slippery with moss. Riptide frowned visibly at the water, pausing in his steps as he moved through a thick patch of cattails. Also not what he was looking for. As Arturo spotted it a few feet from him a soft, “Ah, there you are,” to the poison only for his fiery red-orange gaze to lift to the black and white colored male who had also discovered it and had leaned down to sniff at it. Surely, that was not the only water hemlock to be found and Riptide probably could have went to found another patch to collect from but ...there wasn't any fun to be had in that.

Besides, the sea witch argued, it was his duty to let the other know it was a poison, wasn't it? Perhaps the bi colored wolf knew, and perhaps he didn't.

The sea witch's head canted ever so slightly to the side, assessing the male as he approached, his steps confident but sure to leave distance between them, because the sea witch did value his personal space. “Do you know what that plant is? Do you know what it can do?” Glorious and horrible things. Only something that someone as demented as Riptide would possibly enjoy watching — at least when it came to experiments and his enemies. Skellige's enemies. Perhaps even Arturo's enemies. Perhaps watching them suffer and die very slow and painful deaths would get the gangster to trust him. A small, almost hysterical giggle left the sea witch's lips as he thought about it, his salmon pink tongue swiping across his jowls before his eyes snapped up from the water hemlock to intently rest upon the younger male, waiting for his answer.