Ankyra Sound lost at sea, where they will never find us

there were woods that soothed in a tongue foreign to her. but then there were words that made sense, heard even over the expulsion of sea from lungs. the pearl looked to the other that had spoken, ears cupped and eyes soft upon her. she spoke, voice rough with disuse but gentle and mellifluous all the same: thank-you, 

but the words produced could hardly be heard! she was weak, the strain of it was too much, and the stranger to herself, to all, felt weary, suddenly. everything was new—this place was the very place that she was born, and she began her days knowing nothing but understanding much. words, for example. and as she looked at her shoulder, she noted the seaweed there. good for healing, she knew—but she had no open wounds. it was also good for digestion... but she, in this moment, was not thinking of digestion. 

she watched the sea. mother, she felt. born by it. and as it ebbed and flowed, it bestowed upon her little trinkets. beautiful shells dotted the shore as it receded, and they did not disappear; in fact, the waters, as it lapped at her feet, only seemed to thrust the objects nearer to her. she gently picked the most lovely of the shells, which appeared to be a conch, and deposited it between her forelegs. the wolf did not know, did not think, anything was amiss; for the other who had come to her had been gentle in their greeting. 

after a moment of collecting herself, she peered upward at akantha. where am i...?