Cerulean Cape wave-wracked and wanton

Komodo relented and allowed himself to drift into the background — though he took to the position easily, he never truly enjoyed being in the limelight. He settled his frame against the sands of the beach and watched as wolves drifted about; strangers becoming friends amongst family reuniting. The earthstalker was keenly aware of his outsider status, especially considering the length of time had been away from the wilds, but there was just something about seeing the Cortens fraternize with the remnants of Undersea tickled his fancy. This was a good thing.

The hunt began and ended without much pomp; Komodo fell in beside the others and followed their instruction, for this was their tradition — not his. The man was a collector of ceremonies, so he was certain the hunter’s moon festivities had a role in his future communions [albeit transmuted through his shamanistic filter], but for now Komodo was willing to learn. Without too much effort on his part, the cow was felled — but the meal had yet to be earned. Brontide, master of ceremonies, took the helm and invited his guests to the podium. Almost instinctively, Komodo motioned to gather attention and assume the responsibility of going first — but there was another, younger brute who offered to do it for him. Sitting back on his haunches, Komodo listened attentively. The golden man had sung his song and made moony eyes at a girl amongst the crowd. Seelie had her interpretive dance, which was beautiful as always. That girl always just had a way about her, and the brute couldn’t help but marvel at her.

The songs and the stories and legends continued, but Komodo soon found it difficult to focus. At the nape of his neck and in the back of his skull, there was a dull pounding that caused enough discomfort to be an inconvenience. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, backpedaling to stand behind the crowd and melt into obscurity. He would gladly let the festivities continue on with out him, especially when he felt so ill.