Sea Lion Shores when i die, you can push me out to sea

Winterbane’s nonchalance does little to sway Szymon’s inclination to believe that every interaction — even this one; even though the larger male says he’s not looking for a fight — is an altercation waiting to happen. There is no question of threat or no threat for the embittered Cairn — everything is a threat. He just needs to know whether it’s killable or not. This wolf? Decidedly not killable in Szymon’s current state, though he holds the typical Cairn arrogance when it comes to the Sea. If he needs to, he can retreat into Her arms — and if the two of them can seduce the gunmetal male into Her embrace, he will die like any other unblessed wolf.

His tripping tongue flickers like a serpent’s tongue betwixt his bared incisors, and his GTFO visage gradually recedes into a more neutral expression. “N-No,” he agrees in a rusty baritone, fitting the words slowly to his tripping tongue, “I n-never look. The fights f-f-find me.” He is not joking, sardonic as the words may seem. His eyes, mouth, and one ear are focused on the oddly-painted wolf as he lowers cautiously to his haunches, but one ear pans in constant motion to follow with fierce alacrity each note of the symphonic soundscape. “What do you ssseek.”