Greatwater Lake belongs to the sand

"Rowan." It wasn't quite like anything the cur had heard before; her auds perking to attention attentively as if to commit the sound to memory. 

"Home. -." The youth, Rowan, turned side face -- gesturing with a sweep of his bronzed crown towards the distant tangle of dark woods on the southern horizon. Perhaps this was the word for a forest. Imaq's fractured gaze flitted restlessly between him and the shadewood, wondering if it was wise to follow him into unknown territory. 

There was a tangle of scents perfuming Rowan's copper pelt, alerting her to the fact that he belonged to a Kalaallit of sorts. The outcast knew that such family bands were rarely so warm with strangers near their homes, never mind inviting them over their threshold. She was wary but it was tempting -- what if he meant for her to stay? 

The waterwitch, cursed by death, had been turned away for more than one change of the seasons. Too different, too blemished, too small. The road had been incredibly lonely and the shepherd wasn't sure when another opportunity like this might present itself. 

"Jah," she answered after a calculative deliberation. Her eyes flickered back to him, her hesitance not entirely hidden beneath a facade of composure. It had been some time since the exile had interacted with such a large group and she was vastly uneducated in the ways of this land. Imaq dreaded the thought of blundering, shaming herself, but hoped at the very least to learn more about Rowan and his people. 

Selkie mimicked his posture vaguely, dipping in a wriggling, playful bow to smack her paws lightly on the ground. An excited grin unfurled upon her merle lips, a pale paw reaching out to bat at his own silver-ticked appendage.

Let's go! Her mirthful seaglass gaze seemed to say silently.

I believe this is the last from me! We can have a thread with Rowan showing her BFW if you're up for it? :)