Ankyra Sound Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?

Wylla felt rather than saw the way that Stag grew tense beside her, and she stiffened similarly when Rosalyn got to her feet. Like her counterpart, there was a thin row of raised charcoal fur along her back warning Rosalyn that she wasn't afraid to defend herself. She expected some kind of ridiculous Dragedan claim that Ankyra Sound belonged to the cliffs, along with Rosalyn's promise of violence if she "trespassed" again being fulfilled here and now, but the she-wolf raised her voice only.

She still did not see the irony of fearing such a reaction when she was the one who had tried to claim ownership of land that was not hers, although she was beginning to see how pointless it was to try to defend something outside one's realm. For her, it was primarily due to the lack of support she'd received, even from the one who started the whole bloody thing, but it was something.

I don't give a fuck about your blood, she said baldly back. You leave us be and we'll leave you be to keep doing whatever the hell cuckoo voodoo you're doing. Wylla really did not care to know why Rosalyn was staring into the darkness like some freak, although when she glanced back at Stag, she also caught sight of a red-brown smear on the ground near where they'd descended that hadn't been washed away by the tide yet, suspiciously like the blood of something dragged along the ground, and she was put even more on guard. Maybe there really was some voodoo shit going on here. She'd never liked the grotto, and wasn't sorry that Rosalyn was barring her from showing it to Stag.

C'mon, she said to him, only a little warmer as she began to give Rosalyn a very wide berth, leading him toward the ocean instead while keeping a side-eye on the Rusalkan. Careful, the sand feels real weird on your feet near the water.