Ankyra Sound Dead doesn't mean gone

When he did come back, he was not the same.

Now he’s seen darkness, he recognizes it everywhere: in the shadows and creatures and also in himself, a great stirring presence.

This is the place he was never meant to go, the mainland, veiled in ash beneath the touch of night.  He can perceive dimly the wind, water, and woods, but they are strange; their aching is loud. He is not meant to be here.

He lurches upon the shore where many paws had turned the sand. He hungers. His body needs rest. He is lost and far from home.

But he is not afraid, for he is not alone.

Not far from the willows Mae now called home, a land unlike anything she'd ever seen lurked. A place where the air was always cold and laden with salt; a place where the earth fell away into sand and the sand fell away into endless water, stretching on and on into the horizon. She'd ranged quite far from the mountains now. It would be days before she returned.

For now she only watched the churning of the waves. Somewhere further along the beach, just out of sight, a figure stirred and lurched from the waters. Intuition beckoned her then, and Mae turned her eyes toward the pale figure. Thin; disheveled, like something tossed out by the waves. Maybe he was.

Mae stood, starting down the beach at a wary pace. Her eyes never left the figure.

He limps forward, the tides a toil with three legs, then folds down on the ridge of foreshore to capture his breath.

He feels the eyes before sight discerns there is a figure there with him on the beach, a wolven shadow who stares with two pale beacons. A mainlander.

He does not flee, or tuck his tail in the fear which once ordained him- only lifts slowly his muzzle to take in an interweaving fragrance carried through the wind.

He senses there is a mystery. Are they waiting for him?

They remained locked in some kind of silent stand-off. Mae found herself studying more details of the stranger's coat; dark as well as light, an odd clashing she'd never seen before. He seemed lost.

Then she noticed it. The missing paw. His missing paw. Mae stared only for a few moments, then looked away, perhaps in discomfort or perhaps for the nagging suspicion that it would be rude to acknowledge it. It was difficult to tell just then. A few slow steps brought her closer, silence still stretching between them.

For some reason she half-expected him to disappear; to fade from existence like the ghost he seemed to be.

His lips pull back eagerly, even as he eyes the figure with submission from the corner of one moonlit eye. A tongue wets his lips and twice he pats the sand with his tail- a plea for peace.

He had no knowledge outside the good congregants of Sweetharbor- no preconceived ideas of how others may act or take to a greenhorn islander so clearly out of his depth in this part of the world.

No lessons could safeguard him now, it is the upon the instinct of a wolf he must rely. Another look is given to the shadow-

A girl.

Not a ghost. Just a coward. Something ugly flared inside her, and her tail flagged as stiff limbs brought her ever closer to the boy. Mae didn't want to hurt him. But this — it felt good, knowing that she could if that was what she wanted.

If he didn't retreat from her then, she meant to press into his personal space; to take in his scent, muzzle brushing over the top of his head with the faintest hint of teeth grazing his skull. Wariness kept her movements light, still aware that the boy could snap. She was being invasive; aggressive, even, and she knew that. But she wanted to know just how far he would bend.