Cerulean Cape i just want to occupy your mind

the coast, arturo has come to learn through his errant travels has become quite popular. drageda still remains, another pack has cropped up in the sound — and though he thinks he smells chusi he avoids it and her as if she/they were some sort of pestilence. arturo is content to consider his once daughter estranged and leave it at that — but even so he is innately curious about the state of the teekons. he knows simply that these packs were not here during his second rollercoaster ride as witchdoctor. the growth and recession of the wilds and it's packs is always in flux, he has come to realize. it rises and ebbs like the tide; natural progression. nothing can be forever. it's what he told the wolves of quicksilver hollow when he disbanded a legacy at least ten years old. arturo had done it pragmatically and without any true remorse. he would not lead them. it dies with boadicea and that was that.

the coywolf wanders the cape, taking in what vague information he can about the coastal packs. even feeling as lost and heartbroken as he does, he cannot help his mobster's nature. he needs to know ( even vaguely ). his pursuit of information is a pursuit of power. rebuilding will indefinitely take time and even then he is not sure he is deigned to resurrect teaghlaigh. some things were better left in their grave ...but that does not mean he cannot make himself useful as a spymaster.

arturo almost doesn't notice the pale grey male resting in the sand and when he does the gangster ponders if he's dead or not; though the slight rise and fall of his flanks assures arturo that he did not stumble across a corpse. the fearghal monarch lets out a chuff to announce his presence, low but designed to be heard over the lull of the tide as it crashes upon the shore of the cape. "a penny for your thoughts?" the gangster inquires, his deep, smoky timbre light, communicating that he will not pry.