Coconut Grove this town is wasted and alone.

”…and that’s how I lost my virginity.”

Penn concluded his story with a nonchalant shrug. It had been a good tale, and he was very much beginning to believe himself to be an excellent storyteller. His audience seemed to appreciate it. Or, they hadn’t abandoned him in the middle of his telling, anyway. And by they, I mean… it.

The crab sat motionless on the face of the rock, as it had throughout Penn’s entire story. As it probably had for hours before Penn had even arrived. It didn’t seem perturbed in the least when it had been joined by a wolf, nor when that wolf had started speaking to it as though they were old college buddies. It was still and attentive, not interrupting with a single question or even an exclamation of surprise and delight. Come to think of it, wasn’t that mildly peculiar?

Penn frowned at the crab for a moment, then finally had to ask… ”Are you dead?”

It did nothing. Cause it was dead.

As fond as he had become of Sialuk, he grew restless. With his paw on the mend, he ventured further and further from their little rendezvous point between the moons (as he liked to say). Today, Caracal decided to visit the beach by way of the weald, hanging a left at the foot of a plateau. He aimed his tapered snout at the distant bay, enjoying the cool sea breeze whistling in his ears.

He thought he heard a voice on that light wind. Intrigued, the yearling pricked his ears and tried to pinpoint the sound, the venture carrying him a little further west into a seaside grove. The scenery was awfully nice here. He stopped to admire it for a moment before he heard the voice again, a little louder and more distinct now as it said, “Are you dead?”

Caracal loped a few dozen yards and found a wolf seated on the sand, facing a rock, where a crab perched. The yearling froze in his tracks, head cocking almost 90° as he took in the scene.

Penn failed to notice he had been joined by another. His eyes remained trained on the crab. He leaned in to take a closer look, but saw nothing to suggest it was dead. He hesitated. The last time he'd gotten too near one of these fuckers, he'd gotten his face pinched pretty hard. He wasn't super keen on repeating the experience. His nose told him nothing, though, so he braced himself.

He crept forward on his belly and closed the two feet of distance between them. Cautiously, he reached as far forward as he dared, snuffling as he went. Frustrated, he finally sighed and gave the creature a prod. He touched it for only a second before he was lunging to all fours and darting away to safety. He didn't go too far, pausing once he'd skipped backwards a few feet before turning and taking another look.

It hadn't moved.

"Well, I'll be fucked--you are dead," Penn told it, exasperated, "You could've said something, bro. Now I look like a jack ass." He sighed heavily and plopped to his haunches, wondering what to do now that he'd lost his only friend.

He watched, with increasing fascination, as the stranger addressed the late crustacean. Caracal couldn’t halt the laugh that puffed out of his mouth when the guy scolded it for being dead. He idly wondered if he was mentally ill or something, which made laughing kind of inappropriate, but fuck, it was funny.

That’s where I left it, Caracal interrupted the scene, scuttling toward the rock. He turned and blinked at the other wolf, offering an easy smile. Nah, man, I’m not dead. I just took off my shell this morning to go for a walk and forgot where I put it. He paused to let that sink in before adding, Anyway, nice to meet you! I’m… uh, Crab. Duh.

The voice of a stranger came out of no where, causing Penn to jump visibly. He spun around to face the speaker, his face contorted into an annoyed grimace that froze before it turned to outright aggression. He listened as the youngster spoke, but his mind was reeling back to the kids he'd abandoned. This wolf was young. Young enough? Could he be looking at his own son?

He swallowed the feelings that tried to rise up in him. He didn't know. He would never know. He needed to stop wondering if every young wolf he met was one of his, because what did it matter? He had decided before they were ever born that he wasn't going to be their father. There was no going back. So he shoved the thought from his mind as best as he could and let his gaze shift from the yearling to the crab and back again.

Penn quirked a brow. "Your shell?" he asked slowly, "What, do you wear it as a hat?"

The stranger’s agitated reaction made Caracal scramble back a few yards. Oh man, he should not have poked fun. But the guy stopped short of actually bristling or growling or anything, so maybe Caracal had simply startled him.

Either way, the joke was dead. I’ve got jokes, he replied rather weakly. His eyes skirted sideways to the deceased crab. Was he a friend of yours? Caracal wondered, feeling pretty stupid the moment the words left his mouth.

Penn’s brow furrowed as the boy’s story instantly fell apart and he made a somewhat random claim. He shook his head a little. He wanted to smile, but nothing touched his lips. ”Clearly,” he answered dryly before letting it go himself.

The Blackthorn glanced slowly down at the crab when the boy asked about their relationship. Now it was Penn’s turn to feel foolish. ”Ah, we just met actually,” he replied after a beat, ”He seemed lonely so I thought I’d spend his final moments with him. I’m wicked generous like that.” He scoffed internally at himself. Generous. He was about as generous as he was honest and he knew it.

If it was a ridiculous question, the guy still went with it. Although Caracal definitely sensed some sarcasm in his answer, it seemed good-humored. He grinned sheepishly, then rearranged his face into a more appropriately sober expression.

Would you like some help burying him? Maybe we can say a few words? the yearling offered, trying to keep from smiling. Or maybe we could just, y’know, yeet him into the water? Maybe he’d like that better? A burial at sea, I mean.

The offer made Penn smile one of his characteristic half-smiles. He wondered if the boy was being kind or if he was just jumping back in on the joke. Either way, Penn felt like they'd ridden that train far enough.

"Nah, that's alright," he replied, "He confessed before he died that his greatest ambition was for his carcass to get pecked apart by seagulls, so he's probably good where he is." He glanced skyward where a few were swooping overhead, then looked over at the yearling again.

"What brings you out here, Crab?" he asked, feeling oddly social, "Not exactly the right time of year for a tropical getaway, though the locals clearly are great company." Penn paused and glanced down at the dead crab. "Or they were anyway," he added with a shrug.

Caracal snorted at the man’s rejoinder, though he made no other remark in regards to the crab. Speaking of which, his ears twitched when the other guy referred to him by that name. He huffed a laugh.

It’s Caracal, actually. And itchy feet, I guess. I busted my ankle a while back and I’ve been stuck in one place for a few weeks. It hasn’t been all bad—I got a pretty girl looking after me—but I was built for the road.

His own words made him think. He would need to swing back to talk to Sialuk, then he needed to track down Killdeer. Caracal would’ve loved to commit to sticking with either one of them, but the fact of the matter was, he wasn’t prepared to settle down anywhere. Being laid up had really made him aware of that fact.

Scratching sheepishly at the side of his neck, he focused and wondered, Do you live here or are you just passing through too?

The boy went on to actually introduce himself. The story made him smirk a little. It resonated with him--he'd been quite the traveler once upon a time. He'd never considered his reluctance to stay in one place to be due to itchy feet, though he appreciated the term.

He shook his head at the question. "Passing through, I guess," he replied. He hadn't left the grove in weeks, but he did plan to eventually. Someday. Maybe. Once he figured out his shit.

"A pretty girl, though, huh?" Penn questioned, a little bit wanting to live vicariously through this boy who was starting to remind him a lot of himself (a kinder, sweeter version anyway), "You ever think about asking her to go with you?" His mind drifted to Fenn and that familiar pang of longing stirred up in him. He thought about her often, unable to help himself. The beach had been one of their favorite haunts back in the day. Back before he fucked everything up.

No, he replied right away, because it was the truth. Then, more slowly, Caracal repeated, No… I haven’t… And maybe he should consider it, though he knew Sialuk well enough by now that the idea of asking her to uproot was almost absurd. Oh, he loved the thought, but there were so many reasons why Caracal didn’t think he could ask her that.

But speaking of her, I should head back. It’s a long trip and I know she’ll worry about me, ‘specially with my bum foot. It was nice meeting you, Mr, um…? He paused, in case the guy wanted to give a name.

Before he left, there was one last thing on the yearling’s mind. What is that? he asked, pointing at a coconut lying on the ground over yonder. I want to take a souvenir back to her. I can’t really hunt right now, so maybe… It looked like something interesting and unique, but did it serve any sort of purpose?

The boy was quick to admit he hadn't invited his girl along, but there was something in his expression that suggested he might consider that idea. Penn smiled. "In my experience, traveling is more fun when you do it with a friend," he commented, "Especially if it's a pretty one." He thought about Fenn again, his mood sinking slowly. "I wish I'd realized that sooner," he added after a beat.

He shook his head as the conversation continued. He oscillated for a moment before answering the question, "Fox." He followed the boy's gaze down the shore and spotted what had caught his attention. He smirked. "That's a coconut," he said, "They fall from the trees here. Take it to her. They're pretty cool if you can crack 'em open."

The stranger’s comments made his mind turn toward Killdeer rather than Sialuk. He had greatly enjoyed the time spent on the road with his best buddy. But he knew Killer was leaning toward settling somewhere. Caracal had thought he might do the same, yet now his feelings had definitely changed. And despite this guy’s—Fox’s, apparently—opinion on the matter, the thought of traveling solo intrigued him.

Fox took a moment to share the merits of a coconut. Mind made up, the yearling fetched the nearest one. It was rather unwieldy to carry, yet he supposed he’d manage. He let it drop for a moment, just barely missing his freshly healed ankle, though Caracal didn’t notice.

Well, thanks for the tips. Take care, Fox!

It was only halfway home that that name clobbered him over the head. That was his uncle’s name, as well as his grandmother’s! He paused and glanced over his shoulder, though Fox was miles away now. Caracal shrugged and faced forward, his jaw aching as the coconut’s husk tickled his tongue. Honestly, he wasn’t sure it was going to make it all the way back to Sialuk.