Cerulean Cape across the delta

Feeling sorry for himself would only get him so far, but it wouldn't hurt to indulge himself in a little melancholy before pressing on. With the salt scent and the crashing wave, the sea-sands reminded him only distantly of his homeland, but it was close enough. His legs were tired, the muscles remembering moving across sand but not conditioned to do so. This rest would do him well, and he finally resolved his guilt when he saw the vague black form of a wolf at his periphery.

A general confidence lent itself to a mere lackadaisical turn of his head and he did not rise, though were he less certain of himself in that instant he might have. But no, he saw the wolf just fine from where he was. Hola, he called, for he was instantly interested in her. She was a sweep of black fur, which looked long and silky and utterly un-lupine, though clearly she was a wolf. She was, in a word, fascinating. In another, beautiful. Either way, Sriracha was interested. I'm not looking for trouble, but I'd love to get to know you, he called again, tone just wavering on flirtatious to gauge her interest.