Totoka River don’t say you hate me; you don’t mean it

The mystic knew that the great ones wanted him near the waters; it was their direct means of communication with him, and though he had spent a short while wandering the back end of the flatlands, he did miss the quiet flush of water against sand and stone. Bajeera had caught sight of the river and had followed it as it twisted across the landscape, cutting directly through all measures of tree and rock in the way. Sure enough, the path had led him right back to the gazing pools he had witnessed on his first day. The rolling clouds that carried the promise of rain had filled in overhead and there was a rolling wind that churned the air. The lynx paused once more over one of the pools and drew in the scent of brine; the salt stung his nasal passage and Bajeera flattened his ears out of discomfort.
 
A sign of movement seemed to draw his attention toward a pale and briskly moving figure. Pale golden eyes adorned the white wolf, and the most unusual marking along his sides that trickled down him in inky stripes. The Gul’Dan narrowed his poisonous gaze on the wolf and stood like a creature of the great mystics as the first crack of lightning jetted down from the sky and seemed to connect somewhere behind him. It illuminated the shore in a frightening flash before the roll of thunder sounded overhead. With an interest in the beast, the cat placed his large paw into the sand and held it there. “Aka’Magosh!” the feline called out in greeting to the oceanic beast.