Cerulean Cape Covered my soul with grit and coal

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The sea. He'd been so accustomed to sparring through the foam, tiny bodies slammed into grey slate and sand with necks wrapped in needlepoint teeth. Why they'd always chosen the coldest days, he'd never known, but he liked to think it had hardened his body against what others might shiver and shudder at. It's what he let himself believe, anyway.

It had been a big, ugly, churning thing when he was young. This one, with its blue water and almost inviting face, was completely alien to him, moreso than the scent markers and the abundance of wolves and the lack of barracks dug into mountainsides and mudbanks. How he'd ended up here, the chill wind biting his heels and chasing him from end of territory to end, was beyond even him. The fading sunlight burned off the sand that dipped below his paws, an orange and blue and red mix of light that burned what remaining eye he had. For all his issues with depth, he could still see the way the light reflected off the crystal tide, the way it kicked up in white rollers around his paws, the figure that stood on the — what.

He reeled his head backward with an irritated chuff, the only indication of his ever being there before he almost violently strafed to the right, keeping his remaining eye on the figure he recognized all too clearly. Not this again. He already had a nice mangling of scrapes from their last encounter, and woman or not, he wasn't about to turn his back on a former scuffle. That being said, he still chose to escape to the dunes, if he could; at the very least, he wasn't tired enough for some banter, but a fight? Come back to him in a week.