Ankyra Sound Had to have high, high hopes for a living

Salt, brine, ocean air... so many scents flooded his nares, some he recognised and many that he did not. He kept at his search, his attempts at picking one scent from a collection of many making itself out to be impossible—but the notion of impossibility was but an idea of the conscious mind alone. As the siren’s approach broke the silence that surrounded him, Aningan lifted his head just in time to see her face before it vanished against his nape, and he realised that perhaps his senses were not as bad as previously suspected to be.

But that wasn’t the point of his being there, he could test his limits at any other time.

As Caiaphas pulled back and met his gaze, his mind was swarmed with, perhaps, a hundred different questions. “Koven?” he asked, gaze intensifying as he focused on her expression. “Ânniaven? AullalikKen?” More questions swarmed in his mind and poured out through his gaze, all directed at her—until he tore his eyes from her face and redirected it towards her form. He circled her once, then twice, before settling back down in front of her.

“What happened?” he finally got out, his tongue returned to one better understood between them. “Who is he?” And why was he suddenly at the forefront of the hierarchy?