Ankyra Sound those darkened waters spur

a call rose, drawing scarab out of his search for more items to use to his menagerie. his ears cupped forth to attention atop the proud set of his crown, noting that it calls for all the pack and that there is an undeniable lilt of urgency to it. it has his too big paws switching his direction abruptly as he abandons his search and makes his way to where the call had risen from. it draws him to the beach and he lifts his muzzle minutely to draw in the scents that lay heavy beneath the salty seabrine.

what scarab smells causes his heart to momentarily stutter in his chest. it smells heavily of a sun of his life: erzulie, of the sharp, pungent metallic tang of blood and of sick. the scent of the others went unnoticed just as thoroughly as the wolves themselves went unacknowledged as he tries to hurry through the frustratingly shifting sands, skidding down a sand dune as he approaches the scene. mama! scarab calls with a tremble to his voice as he takes note of her crumbled in the sand. his heart pounds loud in his chest and he hurries to her side: only able to focus upon her and her state. scarab is young but he knows that something has happened and that she doesn't look well.

he hiccups with the sobs that threaten to wrack his body and he approaches her slowly with ears fluttering back to rest atop his skull. i'm here mama. he assures her with a trembling voice and abruptly lifts his head to look first at aningan and then to cadeau. he fixes them both in the best, most imperious look he can muster and demands, fix her. unconcerned with the fact that he's a child and that he's speaking to the new(est) alpha.