Wheeling Gull Isle into the water, let it pull him under

muzzle swings to catch the approach of another, gaze shifting to catch that of the man marching across the beach. her hackles flair, auds pressed forward against her crown as she turns to face him, molten gaze latching onto his own. despite her desire to avoid whoever this is and whatever he wants, turning away and ignoring him does not seem to be an option. and so she strides forward, panting still, until the glint of his gaze becomes obvious, and familiar. "you," she breaths, memories coming together. 

the once-warlord pauses in her approach, hackles still rigid. her gaze drops from his, moving to his leg; or rather, the lack of it.