Sequoia Coast Like whirlpools

The edge where sand met sky was hazy, undulating like a mirage in the distance and obscuring Psamathe's vision. Though she was blinded by the heat drifting off the ground, her senses were on high alert, and when a shadow detached itself from the surroundings and began a mad approach, she was ready. Her steps slowed until she was standing still, awaiting the arrival of the splashing silhouette... And when Caiaphas entered into clear sight, the scryer was not disappointed by the other's posture.

A Neophyte who approached an Adept in such a manner would easily have been thrown to the ground in Themiscrya, but Psamathe was a gentle creature, and accepted the seamless shift from aggression to acceptance that occurred in the gaunt newcomer. There was something vaguely spooky about the hybrid, but the Nereides couldn't put a finger on it.

“You are one of the Neophytes,” she assumed, though she could make no guesses aside from that. The opposing female was thin, with tapered points accented by her sharp silver coat. The swath of black fur that made up her entire head was interesting enough to keep Psamathe staring for a time, but it was with half-lidded and soft eyes that she stared. “What has brought you back into the sight of Mother Sea and Mother Moon?”