Blackwater Islands Oh Comely

Whip was a matter of importance to Akantha. She did not often enjoy the company of males, unlike Kalika—not since the Mother reclaimed Atlas and returned his bones to the briny depths, but he was one of two they now had. The ones now responsible for gifting their seed to the Sisters so that they might birth future Sirens to give love and reverence unto the Sea who, in her benevolence, protected them from the worst of the world beyond the shores. 

She was curled up beside one of the many hundreds of driftwood logs dotting the shores of the island tending to her healing wounds with slow draws of her tongue against the inflamed skin. They were no longer bloody and angry, but septis was a real concern for her. The boy was unclean—who was to say what foulness bloomed in his cursed mouth? The torn flesh on her neck still throbbed however she was too concerned with seeming weak to her Sisters to admit her folly and ask for help. 

Movement drew her attention and she snapped her head towards it, spotting Whip a few dozen yards down the shore. Her ears peaked and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. So far, he'd given her no reason to doubt his loyalty, but she also hadn't been given the chance to test the depth of it just yet. Akantha rolled to the other side to better watch him as he approached. He was a thin, scraggly thing, moreso now than before. It was a poor sight. 

She didn't announce her presence just yet, wanting to see his interactions with the enviorment.