Wheeling Gull Isle razor sharp and ready to cut

the chuff, the distinctive tones of masculinity that he would be content to never hear again in his life but nevertheless breach the quiet ( or as quiet as the shore is ever going to get which is to say not entirely ) causes arturo to glimpse over his svelte shoulder to confirm the immediate suspicion. he finds himself glimpsing at the familiar ebony form of the once-teaghlaigh's most wanted. a heavy sense of weariness settles over arturo then and he glimpses back to the shore, staring wordlessly out to sea as he debates internally. a few seconds later he turns and faces the other man in full. the star-crossed couple that had caused him and his so much trouble had been doled their due punishment and grudges are hardly worth keeping when teaghlaigh was buried with lotte. arturo is tired of holding grudges. it did him no good in the end. he's a man that lost his mind twice: one to incident and once to a compile of grief that he could not ( or perhaps had not was more accurate ) wanted to deal with. his kingdom has fallen to ruin and he has little left in life. he has his children, scattered to the four winds, and he supposes he has hemlock but he does not seek to try to fix what witchdoctor broke. it is better that the past stay past, he assumes; and that is on all things. dakarai and olive's mess included. "i am surprised to find you here, dakarai." arturo admits, breaking his previously held silence as his gaze, of a fiery setting sun lingers upon the other man. arturo is not aware that this place holds memories for him as well. "how do you and olive fare in moonspear?" he inquires in idle conversation if they were not once the bane of one another's existences. arturo doesn't necessarily detect any discernible pack scent upon dakarai's coat but the salt could have very easily washed it off.