Oystercatcher Tide Pools Unsweetened Lemonade

Wandering far from the comfort of the island, Ariadne realized that this would likely become an overnight trip. The promise of seafood, however, felt like a reasonable reward.

Making their way down to the pools carrying an animals hide, they were lucky to be visiting during a low tide. Nearly overwhelmed with the options for their next meal, and likely their meals for several days to come. They knew better than to be greedy, but would it really do any harm if nobody was watching?

After a short moment of contemplation, a decision was made. They would give in to their gluttony just this once - as a treat. With the weight they had lost a full stomach would do them some good.

Placing down the hide they began, quick work was made of the pools. Placing their findings onto the hide as they went, they kept the collection in their sight. When they took what they could carry it would be wrapped up, ready to take back home.

water. desert dwellers do not take it for granted. its rare descent from the heavens ushers in joy, ecstasy, celebration. it comes and goes like a fox-thief in the night. it nourishes what it can and then departs, leaving those oft-parched tongues to bake in the sun once more.

tziporah has never seen so much of it in one place, and it is nothing short of a miracle.

haYam haGadol, she whispers, heart still hammering from her breathless gallop toward the grey-green expanse. the fire-kissed fae stands alert and in rapture— stiff-legged, tail curled high over her hindquarters. 

so engrossed in this moment is she that the presence of another does not dawn upon her until the nearby darkling begins to dig into the pools. she turns with a small gasp of surprise and approaches slowly, one cautious step at a time.

the salt-sweet scent of shellfish enters her nostrils for the first time, and her mouth begins to water against her volition.

have you eaten this meal before? tziporah asks, breaking the silence between them that has so far only been filled by murmuring waves and squawking seabirds. she eyes the growing pile with interest— and not a little desire, as well.

A stranger approached, threatening Ariadne's particularly nasty temper. Food was something they had always been possessive of.

They made a point of blocking their keep from the others view, eyes narrowed. "What's it matter to you?"

Briefly it crossed their mind that the stranger may have only intended to make small talk. Ariadne had never liked small talk.

it had been thoughtless to approach the other wolf while they feast; she notes this too late, nevertheless drawing abruptly to a halt and swiping a tongue across her lips in bashful apology. 

curiosity is all, she promises, toffee gaze hovering respectfully upon the yearling. they are a strange sort, standoffish and androgynous— but it is not within her nature to judge or assume. she uses her long muzzle to point toward the oysters. i have never seen such food in my homeland.

the closest approximation she can think of are the scuttling arthropods of the desert, their hard exteriors protecting soft meat beneath. they're no more than a snack in hard times. . .but a hungry stomach never discriminates.

she remains standing where she is, feeling somewhat chilly in the bracing autumn wind. my name is tziporah, the sighthound offers, and smiles in greeting. she wonders (and doubts) that the gesture will be returned. i am just passing through. do you know this land well?

"No." Ariadne grunted in simple response. Turning back to the hide they made quick work of tying it together - meticulous and harsh, they ensured that not a single piece would escape.

"I only arrived recently - I live on the island covered in seagulls. Can't miss it." They seemed to watch the other out of the corner of their eye. Suspicious and unwilling to share, Ariadne would not be caught off guard.

The little wolf grabbed the hide tightly in their jaws, brushing past the stranger as they began to make their way back up from the tide pools.

the young wolf is clearly not wanting for company, and tziporah can respect that. she watches on as the darkling gathers up their quarry and heads out, having offered only a brief explanation of their living situation. an island covered in seagulls. she'd remember that.

the lord be with you, she murmurs in parting, eyes trained upon the yearling's retreat. she does not draw her gaze away until the stranger has disappeared over the horizon, and then she turns back to the pools, wondering if there is any more bounty to be found here—

and even if she were to find something, she is unsure whether or not she has the skills to crack the shells and dine in the first place!