Wheeling Gull Isle the voice of rage and ruin

this cover is so intense x-x

When the strangers were collected (for the most part), she slipped away. Back to the culvert which she had first discovered upon the isle which she had made her own. The small section of rock was hardly big enough for her own body, but she could always squeeze between the boulders to the inner sanctum; it had only become easier as the days wore on and her weight slipped away. Now, frail though she looked, Parthenos could slink in to the tiny hideaway and stretch out for some relief upon cold and damp sand. The stones were crusted with barnacles; their tops were higher than she could see, but somehow she knew - maybe by scent - that they had been worn down like the flat teeth of deer, and held pockets of sea water. This was a welcome respite from the chaos of the storm. Parthenos knew, though, that she could not escape from them for too long. The tide would come and she would have to disembark again, lest she be trapped and drowned between the stones.

hope you don't mind me and axo! :0

He watches as the pale woman slips away. He remembers her from the beach, taking note of the comfort in which she lingered upon the beach helping the Earthstalker round up any stragglers initially missed. He breaks away from the group and follows her at a respectful distance, unsure why he is inspired. She strikes him as quiet — has he heard her speak? He cannot recall that he has though he does not think any among them are particularly verbose. At least, not with hunger striking at their bellies as Atlan’s fury rages on outside the shelter of the cave. If there is large prey left upon the Isle it is unlikely they will easily be found and it is too dangerous to venture outside for prolonged hunts which will more than likely fail even if they managed to find an ungulate. The beach is devoid of any sea creatures that he is used to eating as currently, there is little left of the beach with the high tides. To venture close to the waters is to be swept away. He manages to squeeze himself between the rocks though his bulky frame despite narrowing in persistent hunger puts up some resistance. Nevertheless he manages and when the pale woman falls within his glacial gaze the leviathan lets out a soft chuff in greeting.

The sound of the storm does not end, but rather, becomes muted the further she delved between the stones. There is a chasm wide enough for her, and she's slept here for days previous, although the soil is damp and the air within made humid by the heat of summer. Not even the raging of the world outside could save her from the moist sensation found here; though with the storm going full-tilt outside, it was a wonder the place hadn't been washed out yet.

As Parthenos plucked her way to the back of the stone circle - hiding herself in the wet sand beneath an overhang of barnacled rock - she almost missed the approach of the stranger. Surely she would not have heard him. And being as tired as she was, having worked so tirelessly to save as many as she did, Parthenos was mentally drifting away from her own senses. The sea could have easily risen up to drown her here and she probably would've slept through it into death.

But he calls out - this stranger - and while at first she doesn't respond it is because she doesn't expect a wolf to be there, standing among the stones with her. She turns anyways, feeling the distinct lack of rushing air when his body blocks the entrance. Upon spotting him she gasps and pins her ears, backing up instinctively against the curve of the stone wall behind her. Is this one of the castaways? Must be. But what do they want?

It is quieter here, deeper into the cave, the thick walls of rock cancelling out the worst of the storm’s screams as Atlan’s rage persists. Never before as Axolotl witnessed such a storm, such wrath and it hinders his ability to cognitively figure out a plan. They are a bunch of strangers utterly trapped upon this Isle with nothing but one another’s company. There is some fresh water not too far away but food has become something of a mythos. Fish that is swept inland is about all he and anyone else willing to brave the harsh winds can scrounge up and he knows it is not enough; he is left with the uneasy consideration of will they continue to band together, to take care of one another or will a bunch of strangers end up turning against one another in bedlam. The hurricane has yet to lessen and Axolotl harbors the dark seedling of doubt that it will ever end. He assumes it has to because all storms end but keeping a bunch of strangers together that have been forced in proximity with one another, tending to their wounds and trying his best to scrounge up food is no easy feat.

Most times he braves the storm to assess it but also to give himself space. It occurs to him, then, that perhaps that is what the pale woman before him had been doing: giving herself space. With that consideration in mind Axolotl offers a slightly sheepish expression, turned to one of alarm when she turns around and lets out a gasp, backing away from. “No, no, it’s — I’m not going to hurt you.” He does not hunker into submission but he adjusts his posture to a more neutral stance aiming to show her that he means her no harm.“I was merely …making sure you are ok.” Or, at the very least, as ok as anyone can be in their situation.

He is a rugged creature. Something large and dark, and she doesn't like that this ominous thing has encroached upon her hideaway. Something within Parthenos fights to be set free - to stand firm before this obstacle and remove it, and perhaps she is more startled by this revelation than any other. He is not an enemy; his posture says this, likely his words as well. But the tone of his voice makes her fur spike, her tail flick in the manner of an agitated cat, and she has the strangest combination of urges: ignore him, and fight him, concurrently. Such a reaction to the male's presence has no basis in her new reality, so the ex-siren is left to be confused. She ducks her head, makes herself smaller against the far wall, and turns away as if to deferr to his presence rather than compete with it.

In turning she reveals the large gash that stains her head. This wound, this mark of her passage from one world to the next, has healed to some extent. The blood is dried. The rain has cleansed it of any sand or grit, although the shade within the shelter does not help with differentiating. It looks to start at the inner base of her left ear and slide down the left side of her head, ending just above the eye - and the fur is streaked with murk because of it. She doesn't notice; she merely wishes to rest, and slides to the ground without issue - but looks to him after a moment, careful and curious.

Axolotl watches her tail move and suspects that, perhaps, he has agitated her. The Atlanian knows better than to force his company upon those whom do not want it and if he an annoyance to her then he will yield and return to the others. She had helped on the beach, though, and he had assumed that she wanted to be apart of …whatever the group of unfortunate souls stranded together upon this Isle were. He considers now that perhaps he has misjudged. She does not answer, does not actually give signs that she understands the words he speaks. He is not harsh with her, is not unrelenting in the push of his companionship and the leviathan of the seas is left feeling …perplexed.

She turns and his glacial gaze goes to the gash upon her head. It is impossible to miss: a startling and bright wound against the pale of her fur. “You are injured,” There is still plenty of distance between them so he can in no way assess it properly but it causes a worried frown to tug at the edges of his lips nevertheless. He takes a small step, ghosting forth and then stops, hesitating. He is no medicinal shaman and he cannot offer her assistance beyond examination but he does not think she would allow it. Do they even have a healer among them? Axolotl does not know and he frowns. “You should have it tended by a healer.” He speaks softly, gesturing with his muzzle to her head unsure if she is even aware it is there. In the chaos of the storm it was easy to miss it: she was walking, helping and he, at the time, paid her little mind beyond gratitude that she had, for some reason or another, decided to assist them.

He continues to speak, and the tone of his voice is light, hardly antagonistic. She cannot help but relax as he continues, whether she understands or not. He has not attacked her; likely too tired from his arrival, or simply not intending her harm. Parthenos feels the cushion of his very presence and sinks within it, accepting that she is not alone and that he merely wishes to investigate. When he notices her wound and closes the gap she does freeze, stiffening, but does not back away this time - and he motions to her head, murmuring something just as incomprehensible as the rest. With the stranger being so close, she takes a chance - and directs her snout towards him, reaching and sniffing, gathering information about himself and his companions as best she can. There is the heavy stink of the ocean which, somehow, she finds more comforting than terrifying; this is yet another obscure thing to Parthenos. She too has been delivered here to the island, not in the same storm but in a similar manner. Yet she is not afraid of the sea? The comfort the scent brings helps the situation - she slowly sags towards the man, leaning against him with a small pressure, as if her fear from earlier has been eradicated.

Axolotl watches as she stiffens as he draws closer, her muscles tensing in preparation for either fight or flight but to the leviathan’s surprise (and relief!) she does neither. He is still when he sees her extend her muzzle and he remains still as she takes in his scent. He feels the slight pressure of her weight as she sags against him and he is stalwart enough that her weight — even though he bears only a small amount of it — is far from cumbersome. Axolotl’s ears taper and smooth against his skull as he contemplates if her leaning against him is because of her wound or not and if it causes her discomfort or otherwise makes her feel lightheaded. Thus far she has shown no inclination that she can speak and so he must assume that like Coelacanth that this pale woman is mute. “Perhaps we should head back to the others? There may be someone that can tend to that wound.” The leviathan suggests still unsure if she understands his words, but speaks them nevertheless. Surely, someone that washed up on the shores of the Isle knew something of healing and medicines; for though they were strangers he does not wish to see her (or anyone else for that matter) perish.