Ankyra Sound a grey mist on the sea’s face

Takes place on the evening of May 27, 2017.

@Thuringwethil [and @Eske by extension] ♥

The little stray didn’t stop running until she collapsed.

Everything — the uneven roar of her heart, the searing burn in her lungs, and the stabbing ache in her malnourished limbs — took second place to the terror that lived in her flesh, brought to life by the sight of the sap-seeping sequoias. As soon as she was able, she was up and moving again, her catlike paws following the unnaturally drawn high tide line in a direction that didn’t feel quite right.

North was home. West was freedom.

Right now, though, west was memory — and the tiny Groenendael cross didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with it. The feeling that she was going the wrong way kept her looking over her shoulder, blinking through the downpour, but she couldn’t keep still. It was evening by the time she reached the cleft where the ocean glowed blue with bioluminescent dinoflagellates, and she paused to watch the supernatural light show with frightened eyes. The rolling thunder and crackling lightning overhead didn’t bother her. The viciously angry sea didn’t scare her. It was her own kind that she had to watch out for, and as she huddled in a tight knot on the sand, her atramentous fur spiky with grime and blood and abuse, her flighty muscles twitched and bunched in a series of tremors that had nothing to do with her environment.