Sea Lion Shores frighten being you better run

She picked her way through the snow-dusted sand, feeling light and quite suddenly carefree. Besides the ocean, things seemed smaller, easier, and before long, she began humming the same melody she'd been when she'd last seen Engel. As it had before, the humming turned to singing, the words sweet and honeyed, rising and falling in pitch, tempo steady. "honey in the rock and the sugar don't stop," Her steps became lighter, looser, drawing nearer to the surf until it unfurled over her paws. "gonna bring a bottle to the baby,"  A lullaby, low, slow, melancholy. Brine and sand and snow; this was a new place, foreign and beautiful. 

@Smokestep, if you have time?

The ghost had wanted to know the rest of the coast as well as his father had. He had taken his time in picking along the shores, watching the waves. The ocean was vast and even more so was the land that touched it. It varied from shimmering sands to imposing cliff faces that dropped into nothing but her tantalizing grasp. Kingfisher understood why Skellige had been fond – even obsessive – over the territories that were nearby. The seafaring wolf was proud to know that he had been born to the wilds. His blood ran with her waters and he had finally returned to where he was intended to be.

Sauntering at an even pace, the pale marauder made his way along the edges of the water. The ebb and flow of the waves would bring her touch to his feet and he would feel a chill of excitement race down his spine. Not too far ahead of him, a voice was carried to the stretch of his ears. His mismatched gaze found the trailing figure of a stranger. The pirate watched as she continued forward, her voice drifting along peacefully.

There! Something darted beneath the waves, a shadow, away from her intruding footfalls. She moved in a rare bout of playfulness, muzzle darting beneath the waves once, twice, but feeling to catch anything between her fangs. She stepped deeper into the water; up to her hocks, before the ocean's chill chased her back up the shore. She'd taken but a step back up the sands before the figure of the boy caught her attention, notes of her song fading into the brine-tinted air. She paused in her wanderings, muzzle canting as she regarded the boy and his own curious optics, the late morning light highlighting them against the pale face. One a sanguine gem, the other a ghostly diamond. 

Motionless, curious, her playfulness fled in the face of the stranger, gaze tracing over him once before came her "hello," He was young, spindly, almost. Taller than her, surely, and yet streamlined, not the kinds of hulking beasts she'd come across. Her tail moved at her hocks in appeasement, an ambiguous smile curving her lips.

The shanty seemed to die away as the female turned to catch sight of him. The limber pirate peered at her curiously, wondering if she would resume her song or if he had taken her aback. She studied him with a beautiful expression and he too roamed her figure with his gaze. It had been some time since he had heard the sound of song on the air – and longer still since he had heard it beside the waters. The pirate watched her tail rise and waver slightly before her voice struck his ears in a greeting.

“Ahoy, lass,” he returned to her with a crooked smile. “Yer singin' was lovely.” Though Smokestep was well off when it came to charming those of the opposite sex, he was not lying. Perhaps it was his longing for the sound of sea shanties to be heard across the bay, or maybe it had been the delicate lilt of her voice, but he had found himself enthralled with it. Still, he could tell that she appeared cautious and so he slowed his pace as he closed some of the distance between them.