Ankyra Sound "If."

Referencing this thread.

"Sha," acknowledged Ephraim as Thuringwethil made to part from him, leaving him to his own devices in the sprawling fields. With a deep inhale, he surveyed his surroundings with a sweeping gaze and swivelling ears, then kicked his feet into a trot that carried him oceanward. Thuringwethil was by then a smudge on the horizon heading north, and the young coywolf tailed her for a time before breaking off and sinking into the heavy shadow of a coastal forest. Might as well explore while he waited.

Something about the place provoked a spike of anxiety that reached far back in his mind, where a faded and threadbare memory of fleeing lived. He couldn't say he recognized it, having only been in the forest once before, but something akin to deja vu settled over him and made his hair stand on end. And even when he found the paths winding down to the sands, and even when he followed one down on cautious paws, he didn't recognize where he was. He had only that dreadful feeling to make him suspect that he should know it.

If Ephraim had found the grotto—if he had stepped into its depths and been awash in that faint blue glow from his den-bound days—then the memories would come rushing back and he would know that this place was his origin. But there was a figure standing tall on the beach, eyes to the ocean, and Ephraim froze in place upon realizing it. His tail switched tensely side-to-side as he contemplated whether he should climb back up to the forest and pretend he'd never been here, but it was too late, he realized. He'd done nothing to mask the crunch of his paws on the cold sand; Eurycrates had almost certainly heard him.

So he cleared his throat to announce himself properly, but his hind paws slid backward over the sand, his muscles bunched under his thin fur, and his eyes were quickly searching for some sort of escape in case the man wasn't friendly.