Ocean's Breath Plateau look ahead, look-astern

newt watches, wearily, as the stranger moves past him. newt does not immediately pick up on any threat — there is nothing in the other male's posture that would give newt such an impression; rather it's a survival instinct recently awoken. he is not home anymore and without the protection of easthollow he's more vulnerable than he'd care to admit. it smells. newt says flatly, with a wrinkle of his muzzle at the salty, fishy scent that hangs over the air like an ever present fog.

there. that was his first impression of this small slice of coast he's been to. it smells. and the height is dizzying. and the water looks as unforgiving as the jagged rocks it churns against. uh, no. newt refuses at the offer of getting a closer look. i'm good. he didn't really fancy being impaled on those sharp rocks he'd glimpsed earlier.

his refusal, his slip of attention ( because he is no fighter; not yet, anyway ) allows the older male to throw himself into his side. the pain of contact, unexpected, causes newt to stumble; panic and rage rush forth with the release of adrenaline. a snarl rises from somewhere deep in his chest and he snaps his teeth at the stranger as he tries to ground himself and use his size and weight to his advantage to keep himself firmly upon relatively safe ground.