Cerulean Cape ghost; is what they call you

he moves to intercept her and to help her, but she is flailing about. they are opposites but they do not know it yet: she, the pirate's play-thing, and he the wanderer fresh to the shore. guimauve should know by now that protests do not help but she cannot stop herself from reacting to the pinch of the claws upon her nose. as comical as the vision is, soon her pink nose is a few shades darker, and all she can smell is blood as the panicked crustacean holds on for its own pathetic life. she does hear his suggestion though and seems to understand, although it takes time for the girl to calm down enough to follow through.

as soon as she assents - accepting the pain of the moment - the crab's feet touch stone and it releases its grasp, scuttling for cover. the alien beast does not head for a pool nor for the surf as it washes freshly upon the rocks; rather, it dives for the safe shadow cast by the other wolf uknowingly, fists raised in defiance and sharp claw-points flexing. the girl is left to stand there like a fool with her head canted low, watching as thin drops of blood drip across the barnacled stones. she lifts her head a moment later to regard the man, and offers him a small smile before licking her snout and smearing the blood across her upper lip.