Wheeling Gull Isle lana i loko o ke kai sapira,

The other said nothing else and offered no visual cues, save for an arch of his brow and the cold snap of a sapphire gaze in the pale seadog's direction. Many underestimated the silent man but he was only incapable of communication -- not thought -- and prided himself on being particularly clever. One had to be to have some kind of understanding of the world in his silent existence. Holokai knew well the other man had no reason to be reprimanding him for the wolfdog had been minding his own business before the white wolf felt the need to enroach, plus he was working -- whilst injured no less -- while this freeloader sat and watched him. The Dogo didn't care what his rank was. He knew the man was not amongst the ones the red male had pointed out as leaders and the cur knew he was in the right.

So, he gave the white wolf a curl of his lip -- a sneer of amused disbelief that anyone could act the way he was without justifiable cause -- and a huffing breath of dismissal before bending back over the tidepool. He ignored the pharaoh's presence entirely, refocusing his verdant gaze and his attention solely on the task of fishing the mussels and other shellfish from the wells. If the man was riled enough to attack the mute, who was for once grateful he would not be able to hear the man's anger, then so be it. Drifter would answer with his fangs, healing or no.