Cerulean Cape wave-wracked and wanton

Licking his lips contentedly, Brontide settled back to watch his niece’s performance. He chuckled at its whimsical beginning — Coelacanth and Amoxtli had often danced together in such a way, and it’d always been purely joyful — but as it drew on his brow furrowed. Quietly he digested the inevitable loss of his little girl’s innocence — for Catori and Coelacanth were like daughters to him, more so than any of the daughters he had left in his wake over the years — but though his heart ached at the knowledge that she had experienced true hurt, enough to portray it in such a way that her audience felt it too, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. She was a Corten, and Cortens wandered. They loved fiercely and loyally, and sometimes, that love and loyalty got put into the wrong hands. Still…she was better off, he believed, for having experienced it. Privately he’d worried about how close Amoxtli and Seelie had been throughout their youth, and it was a relief to him that she had made new friends.

He listened raptly as his littermates began to sing, a fond smile shaping his maw as he watched Serein tuck herself tightly against Sirimiri. Must be sweet, having a twin, he thought to himself. He was glad he didn’t, though — he liked being free to come and go as he pleased. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like, to be tied to someone forever in a way that even a mate couldn’t touch. “You’ll find each other, honeysuckle,” he said to the girl as she passed him by in an inkdark blur to burrow under the crop-eared wolfdog. Hmm, Brontide thought.

Grayday began to sing then, and Brontide’s sharp ears caught the quiet aside intended for his niece. He grinned broadly but he didn’t comment immediately, for Catori herself began a story, old and beloved. Tears pricked the old sentimentalist’s eyes as he turned round to look at Serein and Sirimiri, his gaze clearly saying, “Well, would you look at that?” He was still humming an echo of Grayday’s song low in his throat as he returned to the carcass and managed to excise the liver, one of the choicest bits of the sea lion. Blood smeared his face like war paint as he crossed the distance and laid it before the Spiritwalker and her mate.

“I guess introductions are a little overdue,” he said to the wolf Catori had chosen. “I’m Brontide Corten, from Vargas Island.” He smiled, letting the warmth of it color his voice as he said, “Welcome to the family; any of your kin will be welcomed by mine if they cross the sea and want to visit.” There were no threats about leg-breaking or shotguns here; Brontide trusted Catori’s judgment and wasn’t terribly overprotective. She seemed happy, and Bron was eager to make friends with the wolf who had made that happen.