Sea Lion Shores water in my lungs

He'd grown used to the stares. Their eyes always told different stories. Some were in awe, their imaginations spinning great tales of heroism and strength. Others found horror in the ugly, bare flesh, for surely only monsters carried such scars. He let them believe whatever it was they created, for it was always more grand and glorious than he was.

This stranger, however, gave him nothing. He saw neither glory, nor gore. Instead he found himself staring into thorns.

"th'fuck do y'want?"

His whiskered brows rose, and it'd be a lie to say he wasn't surprised. A foolish thing, as Wulf had meant many with a disposition less than sunny. Long periods of solitude caused him to forget, but he'd not be deterred so easily. Any sane man would certainly leave the stranger to their lonesome, but the River child couldn't stand being alone with himself a breath longer. His thoughts were torturous things.

"Nothing, I suppose."

Drown them out. I can't bear a second more of it.

"Company. If you have none to offer, however," he offered a way out, as the manners taught to him dictated. It remained to be seen if such was just a front, if he'd truly honor the man's wish should it be for privacy. Desperation was such an ill-mannered thing, after all.