Lake Rodney i will fly

yay!!! congrats on 100!

kharybdis holds still; muscles taunt as she inspects the scents upon his coat. this is a familiar enough gesture. scents told much more than words ever could, after all. scents could not tell falsehoods. as a wanderer, the furie had no ties; nothing to run from and no one to avoid. there was something perhaps lonely about the realization that there was nothing to root him to this place ...just as there'd been nothing to root him to the spire, the bay, or the isle. flesh and blood in the latter three, but even those ties were only so strong and with their own packs to lead, skylla and lerna were kept busy.

kharybdis watches as she steps back and he notes the tentative wave of her tail; hesitating before deciding it's an invitation for him to return the greeting. still, unable to hide the physical hesitation, still not sure he wouldn't be physically reprimanded, he draws nearer to her and sniffs at her own scruff. upon it, he scents the flowerbloom perfume that is distinctly her's and mixed within it the scents of many others. none that he recognizes; that forces him to assume that she is a pack wolf ( he's not technically wrong ); and when he's finished he takes a step back to reestablish the comfortable space between them.