Totoka River the upper peninsula

@Coelacanth

Rokig was, by no means, a genius. This had to have been the most foolish act in his short life. He should have kept his lips sealed and accepted the sharp words of his family. Of course, he had held a grudge for some time against them. The days had blurred into weeks and eventually, weeks had become months. Most of his weeks had been spent in a stubborn mindset. Then he loosened his grip on his hatred and realized that perhaps he'd die out here if he didn't focus on something productive.

Lucky for Rokig it didn't seem he was going to die. No, life had something left to give him. He wasn't sure what just yet but it became clear as time went on that he was not meant to fade into the unknown.

It was the sharp bite of the sea air at his tender face that reminded him of the fact that he was still alive. He supposed he should have been grateful for the reminder. Instead, he gave a soft huff as he ceased his movements, silver eyes squinting against the breeze to try and see where he was. If someone just bothered to glance that might think of him as angry looking but a trained eye would be able to see that Rokig was rather lost in that moment.

Thank you for starting!

Geographically, Wheeling Gull Isle satisfied the persnickety little Groenendael’s every whim: it was isolated from the Teekon mainland, surrounded on all sides by the crash and burble of the sea, and ringed by buttersoft beaches. Its heart was a veritable wellspring of sweet snowmelt and rainfall, and it provided a wealth of warmblooded and pelagic fare. Logically speaking, she had no reason ever to leave her citadel — but her heart was swollen with hurt for dear Poppy, whose death had unearthed her past failures in a grandiosely melancholic torrent. They nipped at her feathered heels as she trotted nimbly across the drawbridge that opened to the Sequoia Coast, her tufted ears tucked against her skull as if by doing so she could shut out the clamor of worry that assailed her.

The tiny sheepdog drew up short at the sight of a mist-shrouded silhouette, and those oversized ears tipped forward upon her crown like twin periscopes. She was upwind from the stranger, which afforded her limited reconnaissance — but from sight alone she discerned that the faraway canid looked wolfish enough to be fully of wild ancestry, smallish in stature but larger than her, and cloaked in a muted wash of pale hue. She trotted near enough to make her wish for interaction known, but she was a bashful creature and kept enough distance between them that her shyness would be overt. She was just a bit too far away to be merely polite, but not quite far enough to be considered avoidant. It was a middle ground of blue-gray indecision in which she ensconced herself, a tremulous whuff whispering from her lips as her feathered plume wriggled in tentative goodwill. Warily, she remained poised on her tiptoes, ready to flee at his behest.

His eyes seemed to relax as a sound summoned his attention elsewhere. A small female who looked rather lean and had strangely large ears. She was unique to him and he had to wonder if the world was trying to get him back on track with whatever he was supposed to be doing.

It took him a moment of building up enough confidence to let a small chuff escape him. His tail stayed low and swayed at a casual pace. There was a carefulness in his steps as he approached a bit closer to the blue toned stranger. Although he did try to remain respectful of personal space he couldn't help himself from trying to get a better look. Rokig could have sworn she had come from thin air - or perhaps crawled right out of the water. Ha! What a thought.

"Rokig." He stated flatly in a less than interesting introduction. There had been some time between his last interaction and this one which left his social skills a bit rusty and unflattering at best. The male couldn't stop the small twitch of his nose at trying to learn more about her or the way his silver gaze was careful to pick over her form.

Coelacanth scoured her memory, but “Rokig” remained a mystery to her. Its quicksilver syllables pleased her, especially the burred consonant that began it, but conjured no denotation or connotation. She surmised, therefore, that Rokig was a name, and cradled it gently with her tongue before offering it back to him for his inspection: “Rokig,” she breathed in a timorous whisper.

The atramentous sheepdog’s gamine musculature tensed imperceptibly as Rokig’s careful steps brushed away some of the distance she’d imposed, affording her a better glimpse of him; the sway of her sumi-e brush tail quickened in pace and her Neptune eyes crinkled shyly at the corners in a demure smile. Aside from the warm, milk tea hue on the backs of his ears — a sight she was privy to only because of the slightly oblique angle at which she stood — he was a grayscale wolf, short-boned and compact, with a twitching dark nose and matte argent eyes. Though he might not have thought so, in Coelacanth’s eyes he was a handsome specimen with a pleasant-sounding voice.

Words failed her in that moment, and she tilted her head rather helplessly, her hummingbird heart drumming wildly within her breast. A soft, fluting whine questioned tunelessly: “Are you lost?” and was gilded with the glimmer of her cerulean gaze, limpid with concern.

His head offered a small sharp nod at the repeat of his name. "Yes." In a way it was strange to hear his own name, made him want to curl up inside of himself and consider if that was who he really was. On the other hand, it was rather reassuring. Rokig the cursed. That was who he was at the end of the day.

The male had decided she was rather harmless - maybe even friendly - based on her body language. For that he was relieved. It seemed he wouldn't need to be on guard or apologize for anything. Curiosity, after all, had fueled him to get close due to her own beckoning.

"I'm..." His silver eyes looking around at the place. "afraid I'm unsure of where I am." It wasn't enjoyable to admit out loud but perhaps she could help. Granted he had no idea where he was going or where he was meant to be. It would at least help if he could figure out where he was.

Seabright eyes shimmered radiantly at the quiet affirmation he offered, but Coelacanth made no comment as to her own name; she had lost something of herself when she’d lost Poppy, and she didn’t know how to get it back. She followed the slow pan of his moonbright gaze, her delicate features solemn, and extinguished another half-meter of space with a few sprightly steps. The selkie’s daughter moved fluidly, with a dancer’s balletic grace — but she stopped on a dime that seemed incongruous with her distinctive legato cadence. “Be at peace,” she thought at him, a slow blink of her cerulean eyes and a flicker of her feathered tail transmitting comfort. Delicately, she outstretched her muzzle toward him, centimeter by tremulous centimeter; she moved as if she was afraid to be burned, and her finely drawn head tipped to the side as she drew in his scent.

It was a long moment before she found her voice.

“Undersea pack,” she whispered, posturing like a pointing hound, one willowy forelimb tucked against the slope of her ribcage as her fox-fine muzzle found a trajectory across the water and her tufted periscope ears set their sights. She was a living arrow, and she turned tick by inexorable tick to face the other pack she knew to be closest. “Ironsea pack,” she breathed, repeating the gesture with wordless eloquence. She watched him like a bright-eyed sparrow, throwing caution to the winds and drawing nearer still. She did not know much of the packs beyond the sea, but named her dearest ally: “Morningside pack,” she offered in a silky susurrus, one forepaw lifting to gesture far and away. She closed her eyes against the involuntary pain that was engendered by her last remembered sight of Aditya and summed up, “All T-Teekon Wilds,” dancing a pirouetting circle that set the water around her to singing in a miniature rainstorm.

He watched her closely as she pointed like an arrow. It wasn't a very detailed description but he was thankful nonetheless. The names planted into his memory with a direction next to them. Two sea packs and one called Morningside - all three encapsulated in a place called the Teekon Wilds.

Silver eyes struggled to consume all of the lands around them. His inky lips parted slightly as he considered what to say next. One thing seemed most appropriate above all. "Thank you." The words were soft, almost a whisper, but genuine.

"Do..." His nose trying to pull the scents off of her. "Do you belong to one of those places?" Rokig wasn't positive it was his place to prod about where she belonged but he did anyway. Were there more like her - timid but helpful?

Tufted ears flattened against her skull and feathered forelimbs danced a staccato tattoo on the mossy riverbank at the soft, “Thank you,” — it was clear that he was very welcome, indeed! — and the atramentous Groenendael shaved off another sliver of distance that separated them. They were only about a wolf’s length away from one another now, and still she reached for him with a quivering nose, Neptune eyes crinkling shyly but glimmering with hope that he would tolerate such nearness. At length, “Peace be,” she wished him softly, in a whisper as fragile as a promise.

He seemed to be as curious about her as she was about him, and she entreated him to close the rest of the distance with a catlike stretch of her willowy forelegs, toes curling in the greenery. Her spine, shorter than most wolves’, curved in an exaggerated tilde as her inky plume flagged the air, and she tilted her finely drawn skull to look up at him inquisitively, wriggling her hindquarters. Seelie was still weighed down by the recent loss of Poppy and could not find it within herself to initiate play despite her eloquent bow, so she sat demurely and lifted a paw entreatingly. To his question, she offered a bashful smile. “Undersea,” she breathed, her mood buoying briefly.

"Peace be,"

For the first time in a long time, a small tugged at his faded features. The words - accompanied by her gentle voice - were rather soothing. He had no idea what they meant but...peace. What a nice concept for someone who was supposed to be cursed.

He craned his neck out, nose reaching towards her paw with harmless curiosity as she spoke. Undersea. His silver gaze looking back out to where she had pointed earlier. He internally wondered what it was like, so close to the waters and seemingly so secluded from the world. It was a bit of a silly thought but he wondered if some of it might actually be under the sea. That would explain the name.

"Could I ever come see?" It was a tentative question. Perhaps going to see somewhere would give him a bit of purpose. Hopefully, a small task like sightseeing would get him back on track.

Rokig’s smile did not shatter the stoic lines and somber planes of his face, but tugged at them instead — revealing, perhaps, that this rather solemn nature of his was a fixed, immutable trait. The quiet weight of his presence reminded Coelacanth of Marbas, but even if it had not, the smile alone would have endeared the male to her. She set her catlike paw down, seeking to reach her nose toward his before he drew completely away, and ghosted forward another tentative step.

“Could I ever come see?”

Honest delight danced in her Neptune eyes. She nodded, her tail whisking gaily behind her, and made her eagerness plain: “Please,” she breathed, tufted ears cupping forward upon her crown. The word she wanted was, “anytime,” but what emerged was, “Ever.” He was free to visit whenever he wished. Undersea was not a particularly territorial pack as a whole, and even though some members were a bit pricklier than others, Seelie was sure that she would be there to intercept and unravel any misunderstandings. The idea that he even wanted to visit lifted her mood further.

“Anger?” she whisper-whined, but shook her head in embarrassment almost immediately once the word left her lips. Her time with the humans had severely incapacitated her speaking ability, and even though she had managed to fashion for herself a means of communicating verbally via breathlike whispers, she simply couldn’t do it often enough to achieve fluency. Words that sounded the same or carried similar meanings — fawn and fern, anytime and ever — were rather difficult to keep straight. She’d said “anger” — but what she’d meant to say was, “Hunger?”

It seemed he hadn't shattered any boundaries with his question. Instead it seemed he was being welcomed to see this Undersea. His tail swayed slowly by his ankles in a kind display of his thanks, a gentle nod of his head added to solidify the gesture.

His brows would have furrowed in confusion at her word had she not swiftly shook her head. Round ears leaned forward with interest. Once upon a time, Rokig would have been filled with anger at the past events that had occurred but here in a strange place it was hard to be angry. Confused, lost and curious were all more fitting words for the compact creature.

Ah, but her next word fit rather well too. Food hadn't crossed his mind too much these days. Hunting had never been his forte and obviously getting anything worthwhile alone was a bit difficult. "I do hunger...do you?" Surely she should be okay - with a pack to belong to - but that didn't stop him from asking in return. He had noticed her lean figure but it didn't exactly look like one that came from hunger. Granted there was always the chance he could be wrong, which wouldn't come as a shock to him if he was.

Despite her lean musculature, Coelacanth rarely turned down a meal. She was still thinner than she ought to have been, but the ectomorphic Groenendael was gradually putting on weight and muscle and no longer looked so skeletal and wraithlike. Cheerfully, she nodded to the smallish male whose tan-backed ears canted forward toward her, muzzle ducking shyly as she wondered how to ask him to follow her. She backed away from him a few paces, tossing her finely sculpted head, then made a wide circle around him on sprightly paws that traced the territory with intimate familiarity. When she was certain she had his attention, she trotted a few steps further inland — away from her island, which was truly a shame! — and paused. Slim jaws parted on a “bark” that offered no sound, merely the rush of air and the muted click of her incisors. “Come with me?” she begged wordlessly.

He shifted his weight around as she seemed to dance around him. Silver eyes tried to follow all of her lively movements, his head turning from side to side. As she moved a few steps inland, he followed wordlessly like there was a tether that kept him to her.

The compact male wasn't sure what exactly she had in mind but he had nothing to risk by following her. Nor did it seem like she meant any harm. Most creatures he knew wouldn't spend this long to lull someone into a sense of security.

His eyes stayed trained on her blue-tinted form (even if his thoughts seemed to float away from him) to follow whatever example she set.

The silver-eyed male was easily led, and for this Coelacanth was immensely grateful. She had never been one to turn down a meal, but nowadays she was ravenous — even the raw grief of losing Poppy could not overshadow the demands of her stomach. She brought Rokig to what had once been her favorite fishing spot in all of the Teekons; and although it had since been usurped by the safety and abundance her island’s waterways offered, she found that a flicker of happiness cracked through the miasma of mourning that weighed heavy on her soul. A brief glance told her all she needed to know: the water was still clean and sweet, there were glints of pleochroic fishscale beneath the surface, and the bend in the river, compiled with a rocky, pebble-bottomed dip in the riverbed, allowed for greater error than trying to scoop the fish from a straightaway.

“Rokig,” she whispered, speaking his name simply for the pleasure of doing so, and slipped into the water. Her feathery fur seemed transmuted to blue-black ink, blending in with the dark polish of the rocks beneath. She angled herself where she would not cast a shadow and plunged her head below surface when she spotted a fish nearby. She missed the first time, but almost immediately dove again, her slim jaws latching with practiced ease upon a speckled trout that she flung onto the mossy riverbank for her friend. She “barked” invitation, her coyote-fine jaws splitting and snapping together with a rush of air but no real tune behind it. Did he want to fish with her?

He stood on the land and watched her at first. His tanned ears pushing forward as she spoke his name. She reminded him of a siren — something his mother had warned him of back in the Abyss whenever strangers came around. You know, before he was branded as a curse and no one wanted anything to do with him.

The compact male likely would have just kept watching her had she not given an invitation. He was hesitant at first. His old home had had plenty of water but most of it held nothing good. Although he was made to doubt that this water was bad. Certainly she would not wade in it if there was nothing worthwhile.

After brief contemplation, he moved forward. He waded into the water and decided to linger behind her form some. Rokig was a bit embarassed to admit that he wasn't exactly sure how this worked.

There was a tentativeness to Rokig’s steps that made Coelacanth think he was new to river-fishing. It was still too early for the Chinook to run, unfortunately for him, but the warming of the weather had yielded other opportunities for a good feed. The timing was just perfect for early summer steelhead, and she indicated the shapes with her muzzle. “Look,” she whispered, licking her lips at the thought of the sweet, juicy flesh. It was a bit trickier, but she pinned her gaze on one such shape toward the shallower end of the riverbend and plunged her muzzle below surface. This time, it was a direct hit — and she came away with a large specimen that she tossed nimbly ashore.

Once the salmon stopped flopping and grew still, she set it alongside the trout she’d caught, then slid into the water a third time. This time, she took point behind Rokig. If he wanted to try, she would be willing to serve as his backup — and if he missed, he could still take his pick of the two she’d landed. She readied herself to scare the fish in his direction, whispering encouragingly,

“Try and try — fast, fast.”

catch determined by dice roll (click)

She made it look so easy. He watched keenly as she snatched another fish. His cheeks felt flushed with embarrassment as doubt filled him. Could he really do it? Her words encouraged him but that didn't exactly change his feelings too much.

The male sucked in a deep breath, giving a quick nod of his to show he was ready. A few moments passed as he waited for one of the scaley creatures to get closer. He didn't want to risk making himself look like a fool and if he found a better opportunity he would take it.

His jaws parted as he aimed to grab the fish. He managed to grab towards the tail end of it but still enough of it to hold on. His head reared up as he pulled the fish from the water. Silver eyes squinted sharply as it wiggled about between his jaws.

Oh god. He had really done it but what now?

Yay Rokig! Wanna close this up and have a new one?

The Groenendael looked on with a mixture of fondness and pride as Rokig plunged his head below surface, then reared back with an impressive splash. The fish smacked him around the face as they were wont to do, and he seemed a bit shell-shocked by the whole thing. To encourage him and galvanize him into motion lest his prize be lost, “Worry! Shore!” she urged, bungling her words again. “Hurry!” she amended him, lightly nipping toward his haunch to drive him there; her fangs never made contact with his flesh, but rather snipped at air and a few stray tendrils of riverwet fur.

Absoulutely!

Shore.

Right. He kicked into gear at the airy nips near his hock as he moved onto the shore. The fish was growing less active but he was still worried about being smacked in the face more. Carefully he tossed it near the two fish that his company had already caught.

Only a few seconds later did it cease to move anymore. Good. The whole ordeal had been kind of awful during the process but now it seemed fun. Despite being drenched to the bone almost. He contained his breathing as he looked over at the inky female. I, uh, thank you. Had it not been for her he most certainly wouldn't have been able to do it.

With that out of the way, he was content for them to eat or part in peace — whichever came first.