Blackwater Islands collywobbles

Ruin stood like a crumbling monolith, rain cascading down his scarred face, fur plastered to the hulking mass of his frame.

Ruin’s good eye shifted toward Nayavanti, his brow furrowing. His hackles prickled beneath the wetness of his coat, though he didn’t move. He didn’t think much about why they were here or who had left Visala behind—Ruin wasn’t made for those kinds of questions—but something about it didn’t sit right with him either.

It stirred something primal in him, protective and blunt, because to Ruin, there was no greater purpose than keeping her safe.

Ruin didn’t like this gathering. Too many voices. Too many thoughts.

"Stop fighting." Came the quick snap of his pearly teeth.