Wheeling Gull Isle Don't be shy.

The creature does not expect to get by unscathed, and by the time he crosses most of the sand bar he is soaked through—his grizzled pelt now saturated to the point of appearing of a deeper shade of graphite. The waves continue to crash; they are to be feared to a certain point, but they are not what worry him today. His sharp eyes have locked on to movement in front of him. There is a body creeping closer and he isn't sure he wants to stick around and be subjected to whatever customs this island-dweller perpetuates. He has no choice in the matter. A decidedly raucous wave splits over the sand bar and causes it to temporarily submerge in to the sea, and with it went the soggy boy.

He scurried for safety while the ocean crashed around him. He would've been swept away if not for his quick thinking—he rooted himself to one spot by grappling at a tangle of weeds, gripping tightly with his yellowed teeth. Once the wave subsided he raced for safety, and right in to the path of the oncoming stranger. At first Ve'kesh did not know what he was looking at; he was addled by the drumming of the waves, with salt water dribbling down his chin (even working his tongue over a chunk of some debris that had thrust itself deep in to his throat, he wad it up an spit it out just as the stranger began to speak).

They looked Zuldarian, like him. Tall and lean and familiar enough to allow him to drop some of his guard, except when he heard their voice that defensive, feral nature returned. He whipped his head up, and his too-long ears tilted forwards to catch the words. Ve'kesh should've known better then to assume someone from his southern tribe had made it this far north. Still, he was pleased by the sight of the woman—it warmed him in strange places when he looked over her rufus-red coat and her sharp contours.

He had yet to realize he was looking at a man, of course.

No way, he called out over the din of the poor weather, Da sea be fulla anga! It be a mistake to cross, yah? Ve'kesh be thankin' ya for some shelta, yes? Ok? He understood their language and tried his best to speak it back to them, but it would be hard with his heavy accent. All he needed was some place to wait out the storming sea. Once things calmed down he would skiddaddle his way back over to the mainland where things weren't so loud, cold, and frightening.