Sequoia Coast outside, cold and ghosting out with jetlag

the boy gave Caiaphas an unsure glance when her phlegmatic gargoyle remained just that -- phlegmatic and gargoyle-like. he felt his age saliently -- young and intimidated by this unnerving presence. stashed away in the privacy of his mind was the self-affirmation that he would keep a respectful distance... or so risk turning to stone like medusa's quarry. 

his attention was cinched by the lamial woman and his body followed the directive skim of her muzzle across his own, drawn as though by a magnet to her side. her intent to stake her return to the sound struck him like a cur. it reminded him -- "i found Ingram. or he found me." he offered, not knowing how she would react to him reconvening with his blood ties. "he's made friends here." he punctuated the word friends with an acute bitterness; he'd made more than just friends, it seemed, and Lycaon hadn't cooled off from that yet. "we've been searching for Wylla, but she's good at staying gone." he sighed.

as they treaded the briny scrim, Lycaon gave Caiaphas (and thereby, Kierkegaard) every final detail he had to give about their present situation until there was no more information to be supped from his memory.