Dragoncrest Cliffs blueish-purple

sobeille came to answer svalinn’s silent prayers that day, intrigued by the childish battle whoop heard from the swashline. she spotted the golden cloak of her uncle first, eyes narrowing on the tiny terror that sent a dozen gulls to the sky like a bowling ball striking a dozen winged pins.

as the gulls flapped off with a series of none-too-kind avian cursewords, sobeille sauntered towards the pied marauder. there was something about his fur pattern she’d always found intriguing— it was like half of his color hadn’t formed.

he’d make a fine pelt, once all that sand had been beat from him.

you know, sobeille informed, coming aside him with a catlike twitch of her tail: dat you are supposed to be silent when you be ‘untin’, yea? you can’t sneak up on dem if you be screamin’ all de time.