Ankyra Sound metaverse fallout

Dawn slowly lit the horizon, but Marina's gaze was turned north: where the ocean faded into the distance, the water seeming to go on forever. Her children were fast asleep in the den, and high tide had hidden its entrance. She could have ducked into the water and found it through muscle memory by now.

Instead she was stretched out in the wet sands where the waves stretched out in a thin white film before receding. Her forelegs were crossed neatly in front of her. At her side sat the skull she'd taken from the beach.

There was something about it. Marina couldn't puzzle it out, so she kept the skull close. She'd even let the children play with it once or twice, but only a little. She didn't want their tiny teeth marks all over it just yet. Her gaze flitted occasionally to where it sat in the sand, as if to check that it was still there — but always she returned to watching the horizon.

She saw her son, Crosscurrent, doing the same often enough. But what did he see there? What went on behind those yellow eyes?

Snagged ^^

Most cats did not enjoy water, yet the dancing feline cut a rug through the salty waves with a joyful cry. If Detta were made of wind, she would have created a cat-sized hurricane as she twirled through the spray. If her muscles and lungs never grew fatigued, she would have done this forever, but all things must end—even a dance.

As the melody of her body lulled, she pulled herself from the chill, her body releasing the wetness on her coat as she shook aggressively. As much as she enjoyed herself, she hated the sand that squelched between her toes and peppered her paws. She stepped gingerly along the beach, each lift of her paw was accompanied by a vigorous shake. It was a silly look, she was sure of that, but she couldn’t help it. Wet sand has always given her the ick.

But, it would eventually dry enough where it wouldn’t clump between her toes the longer she traversed the beach of the Sound. Unfortunately, she got stuck in high tide, unfamiliar with the coast’s wax and wane, and once again she squelched through the wet sand, grumbling to herself.

Eyes that matched the rolling sea itself landed on a lithe form, much smaller than her own bulk, and as she opened her mouth to inhale its scent deeper, she gleaned it was of a canine-variety. Not quite wolf, not quite coyote, but an interesting mix of both.

Detta did not move closer. She knew her kind and the canines did not mix well—despite her sister’s uniquely close relationship with Journey, a wolf who held hints of something else, but canine nonetheless. Her voice was soft, accented from her own language as she greeted the other in the speech of canids.

Careful, little dove, I do not wish to see the sea rip you from this beach. It is quite strong, no? There was a hint of purr in her words.