Cerulean Cape All that sound

I couldn't find the BWP forecast for today so I just assumed more rain

The seas were rough that day at the Cape. The sky hadn't cleared during daylight, but Taikon had not been awake to see it. The white wolf had risen just when the sun was dipping low on the horizon. Sea spray and cloud cover coloured everything a dirty grey. This dull and wet attitude was all that life seemed to have in store for the wolves of the Wilds. Many had lost everything. Taikon had lost out before the game had even begun — his taste of sunshine had ended abruptly and there seemed to be no hope of improvement.
To help brighten his spirits, Taikon had decided to get the blood flowing by chasing sandpipers around the beach. The birds did not find his games particularly fun, wishing only to pluck sea lice from the sand. As he flew down the sandbars, the birds would fly only a short distance away before returning to their chosen hunting areas.
It didn't take long before the sand on his feet tired him, and he lay down on the beach, watching the birds go back to their work cleaning the sand of insects. Resting his head on his paws, he sighed. Another drizzle started, but rather than moving to find shelter, he just stayed. It all seemed rather pointless. Wet or not, there was no longer reason to his life.

She had made her way further up, the mountains looming ever closer. Carefully, the sylph would cast a sideways glance to its ominous presence, feeling the thunder in her heart much more loudly than the clouds and rain that roiled the very skies above. Was it possible for the dead to call for one from the grave?

And so she was placated to continue along the coastal shores. There was a clairvoyance to being separated from everything you held dear—perfect clarity finally weighted upon her slender shoulders, and the salty air instilled new life to her. @Trench and @River remained behind in the lands they had claimed, ruling now while she dredged up the shadows of the past. Argent was somewhere—accompanying her at times, and ghosting her even more.

Nondescript, the sea cringed against the storm that seemed consistent over the Wilds. Ketzia did not hold the rain with disdain, like so many. Her pallid coat clung to her very bones, perhaps hiding the beauty that seemed to be the opinion of many onlookers. Instead, the exotic grace of her muzzle swung to the direction of another among the roughened shorelines, and she considered the presence she had stumbled across.

Whether it was her very heart stuttering at the thought of the mountain’s shadow cast upon her or mere curiosity, she continued forward, pointed eyes of bright green grazing over the stranger who seemed fallen upon the ground. “Defeat from the weather, or defeat from life?” Her voice was wispy smoke—a raindrop trailing down from the tip of her nose as she stared at the stranger.

The pipers, sensing the rain, moved away from the shore to huddle among the grasses further away. The white wolf was left alone with his thoughts. The rain was warm, though a breeze from the sea cut into his skin every so often and forced a shiver. It wasn't long before his fur was wet most of the way through, yet he still didn't move.
Taikon's short time with a pack had reminded him all of the good that could come from relationships with others. He could no longer convince himself that he was a loner by nature. He wanted to curse Aphrodite and Juniper for opening his heart. How could people he had known for so little time have broken his sense of identity? He was long tired of feeling sorry for himself, but this was different. His lack of direction was now existential. Everyone had left him. Perhaps he should have stayed and attempted to regroup with others from the pack. It didn't feel like he had a place with them.
His ear shifted, flinging tiny drops of rain as a sultry voice seemed to come from nowhere. The prince lifted his head and found himself looking at a creamy she-wolf, her coat quite like his. The two might have been siblings had her eyes been less fierce and captivating. Both, I suppose, he said. Gone seemed his guarded attitude toward what had happened. The one positive to Whitebark happening the way it did was that he had a wound he didn't feel the need to hide. My pack has moved on due to our river overflowing. The lands are flooded, he said, rising. It seemed to take him great effort to do so, as though he were five years older than he was.
Taikon turned his body to her and shook himself, spattering water everywhere. The rain, of course, would undo that effort shortly. He didn't expect her to say anything, but watched to see how she would respond anyway.

It wasn’t quite an answer she expected, given the somber posture of the stranger. Still, it was something she could correlate her own feelings to—at least in a past life. Tribal had seemed forever ago—and Cutthroat Creek. The Ketzia that had once run with those wolves and led them further on was gone now—that part of her life contributing to molding who she was now.

Nothing had shaped her more than Diaspora. Than the dark shadow that had led it… and his brother in arms and the heated embrace of them both.

Nothing, however, had made her grow more than her children.

She hummed softly—not unkindly, as her eyes swept over him. “You chose not to follow them?” Or perhaps the opportunity had slipped past him. She did not judge either way. Instead, she swept her eyes to the roiling seas, the faintest smile tracing at her slender muzzle. “Perhaps our life is like the ocean. Always shifting—bending to forces we can’t control and yet still leaving our own mark.”

She shrugged, casting a flickering gaze back to him with the faintest amusement. “I’ve never been one for metaphors. But you will rise like the sea. You must.”

The stranger looked at him. There was a brief pause between their words. She did not seem in any way to want to cause him harm, not that it would have mattered.
You chose not to follow them?
Taikon looked away from her, slightly ashamed of himself. He knew that there was no strong reason to feel this way, but the reality was that he had pledged himself to the pack because of a person who had since left the world. Moreover, Artyom and his family had left to an area that seemed practically uninhabitable far to the East. The wolves who remained... He held no loyalty to them. In particular, the Déorwine siblings who clearly themselves lacked any sort of value for loyalty. The prince said nothing of this, instead listening as the pale she-wolf shared a metaphor before declaring she was not one for metaphors.
The white male said nothing, unwilling to look her in her fierce eyes. It seemed a wise set of statements, yet he was not sure that what he had been doing most of his life was rising, or even shifting. Instead, he drifted. He was a leaf in the wind, unwilling to accept consequences even as he refused to change his fate.
At last, he broke the pseudo-silence as the waves sounded beyond the wolf pair. Indeed, he said, suddenly not wanting to share more. Instead, he shifted the conversation. I apologize, I was lost in my own head there. I am Taikon, he introduced, finally glancing her in the eyes before offering a deep bow. This royal greeting was a signature introduction for the Farukan prince.
She seemed a kind woman. He felt guilty suddenly for dumping on her as he rose from his bow.