Oystercatcher Tide Pools A man with intent on his face

Subtlety was a language the Ex-assassin knew all too well. He had been noticed, stared at, regarded, and silently noted. It had settled as it’s own flag on Cry’s mind, something he would too be aware of. There was more to this massive gradient woodsman than the regular talker ‘Raziel’ came across- it was almost much more appreciated to be simply Cry again.

His glacials moved to the chaos of the waters, eccentric blue reflective in his own cold azure gems. His aud caught the man enjoying the morsel of his success. Cry wouldn’t interrupt him. He had no right here for demanded conversation; he was out of pack lands. Here, he was just a regular wolf. A regular face, a regular man.
It was almost a breath of fresh saltine air as it was almost as though he had left his worries away, to fade behind him. His pregnant wife, his Family, his duties- he was running himself around doing what felt like everything. It was tiring. 

He needed this solace.  

Those artic jewels closed as a breathtaking breeze stooe the heat from heat from his lungs and washed away. 

He let it.