Blackwater Islands birds and stars

Here the land stunk of fish and it accosted Indie’s sumptuous nose, which so enjoyed the scents of flowers and the freshness of inland. To say Indie was not an ocean wolf would be an understatement, for she was the definition of a summer wolf and had been blessed with favorable climate nearly year-round. She had been raised among the temperate forests from the south and her blood ran hot; so the way the salt from the spray of the ocean tangled and strung together her pelt vexed her entirely. She spent many hours cliffside, out of reach of the ocean’s grasp which crashed against the rocks below, grooming the salt from her fur and spitting the bitterness back into the sea. 

But this time… it felt nice. It felt nice to be cleansed by the mist from the waves, which damped her every time a waves crashed onto the shore. Indie was soon soaked entirely and sea water drained from the crown of her head to down around her ears, careened along her neck and over her chest and snaking around her tall legs, pooling onto the beaten sand around her. It was cleansing, even though the cold of the winter season stung her endlessly. The sea was powerful and it was no wonder that the sirens revered it so.

Indie was hungry then and she turned to pluck one of the marooned fish flapping upon the beach and she saw him; a male off in the distance. Inge’s hunger suddenly abated and her stance straightened, ears perked and tail lashed low between her feathered socks. The vamp was soaked thoroughly and must have been quite a sight, but that too was forgotten. “Come closer,” she said loudly as there was quite some distance between then, testing the waters and assessing her command over him… and knowing quite well that the consort would likely listen to her, the big and bad future amazonian lady that she was.