Ankyra Sound wasteland, baby

From somewhere deep in the wood, the blackness, something rose and took form. It was like staring down a leopard seal as it prowled beyond the ice; he could not move, but he could trace the approaching glow of those livid yellow eyes. The shape slunk closer and closer but he was not afraid — perhaps anticipating death, inviting it — but the face that met his gaze was something just as confusing as the rest of this vista.

A black-faced woman. The scent of brine, but nothing surfaced in his tumultuous sea of a brain.
Not until she spoke, and used the sound he identified himself with; larus, he had no idea what it meant or why it was significant, but the fact that this creature knew it was enough to make him mentally pause. To watch her with the same shrewd skepticism that she passed over him.

She was seeing a ghost — he didn't know what he was now faced with. But he dipped his head in a small nod and rested at a slouch.