Sequoia Coast outside, cold and ghosting out with jetlag

he would have been content to sit there for the entirety of the evening with his head buried against her throat, getting refamiliarized with each individual tuft and shock of fur. if her presence could not heal his cognitive distortions, it would at least let him reminesce peacefully about bygone days when things weren't as riven and his innocence was more or less unscathed.

she stepped back to address the wolf accompanying her, now identified as Kierke (was he supposed to know the name? he strained his memory, and ultimately came up lacking the ability to peer in retrospect). his head, naturally, tried to follow her movements and richocheted off the sudden default in gravity--he braced his balance, jerking back his head. his eyes bulged with surprise but he recovered quickly as Caiaphas encouragingly prodded him to curtsy for her friend.

he, on the whole, would condescend to such a request. this man, this Kierke, however, she had alleged to saving her, and it was with utmost deference that Lycaon regarded her stolid salvager. 

"um, hey." he said, almost too simply. there was a loss for words. should he say thank you? or just 'hey'? did he need to explain there was no oedipus complex astir here? his tongue was lead in his mouth.

also, ahem, riptide? that oceanic menace he'd, time after time as a child, caught a scolding for drawing near? given it's imperceptible lethality and all that. Lycaon knew it wasn't terribly apt timing, but couldn't stop himself from turning to his mana and muttering: "you told me to stay out of the deep water because of riptides. you didn't have to prove your point..."