Horizon Ridge trying to act hard with your gun up

Calling @Ferahgo!

The coast, while having caught his interest when he first laid eyes upon it, was now no more than a large, lively body of water that occasionally expelled weird food to Gristle. Having lived within the brutal Red Canyon for most of his life, he wasn't sure what to make of not having steep slopes every which way you looked, but didn't mind the constant breeze that now swept through his fur. The salt still stung his nose and sand and grit had already become entangled in his messy pelt, but Gristle concentrated on other, more pressing matters — such as his next meal.

The brute had separated from Wednesday after their encounter with the black-furred foreigner, wandering inland again before heading back to the shores. The sun was beginning to set just as he came upon the base of a large cliff. Or rather, what used to be a large cliff. Rock and rubble lay scattered about now, which Gristle haphazardly wandered across as he made through a thin forest and towards the sea. Whatever this place was, it had nothing to offer, and so he headed where the putrid scent of fish was the strongest.

eek! almost forgot this! love the gif ;)

He was not keen to meet this shadow of a wolf, that trailed after the one he called Whitey, merely because she, in her own words, allowed him to. He had no interest in someone that was, in a way, sworn to someone else; he needed heads that bowed to him and no one else. Yet, Ferahgo was as curious as a snake that pokes its head down a rodent hole wondering what might be down there. He caught the wolf's trail, recognizing it only by the hint of the scent of his crewwolf, and followed it.

He assumed this was the wolf she had referred to, at least. He was not sure which of the pair was more a brute, this one or the wench. Ferahgo, less than he in height and girth but perhaps twice as shrewd and dangerous, paused. He narrowed his eyes upon this wolf and intensely watched the way he moved.

Hee, no problem <3

Unaware of his audience, Gristle moved about the fallen rocks and logs that made up the ground here. He roughly turned over a stone, finding nothing but stale water. He sniffed at it, sneezing and pulling away, disinterested. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. The scent of fish was familiar and so he followed that, but god help him if he had to actually catch one. A man of simple brute strength, it would be quite a show to witness him trying to hunt such slippery, agile creatures.

Disgruntled, he shook out his neck fur and turned to scan the horizon, only to spot the stranger from a distance. A smaller fellow, with a stormy-coloured coat and peculiar black patch upon his chin. He was watching him. Gristle returned his gaze, brows furrowing in a challenging manner.

He was spotted. The other wolf looked at him, pinching his brows, challenging and daring. Ferahgo lifted his snout above the level the other held his and leered back. His toes idly flexed across the rock beneath his paws, and his tail moved as a slow pendulum. It seemed the two were having a bit of a face off. This was fine by Ferahgo; who on occasion, made it a sport to do this sort of thing.

Beneath his stare, the other remained steadfast, even lifting his own nose higher than Gristle's own. The man's eyes squinted even more at the display, hackles raising as he perceived the stranger to be more and more of a threat. He did not look it, but his demeanour alone was enough to rake his fur the wrong way. "What're y'staring at?" Gristle finally spoke, loud enough to reach the other man, the displeasure — and unintelligence — clear in his gruff voice.

On Ferahgo's lips rose a smirk. He had ruffled the other man's fur by his presence alone, and since the other spoke first, declared himself to have won the game only he knew was being played. "Some scurvy dog," he answered flatly. Still he did not move, and still he continued to leer out across a brown snout.

The answer was unexpected (really Gristle didn't even know what he was expecting), and he quirked an ear sideways in confusion. The hell did scurvy mean? He cast a suspicious glance behind him, wondering if the man had spotted a rangy wolf or coyote roaming the coast. However, they were the only two present. The light suddenly flicked on in his head that the smirking stranger was referring to him. Gristle let out a growl and his tail arched above his back. He still did not smell Wednesday upon the other's pelt. "Dog?" he spat, indignant, taking a step forward.

The Captain did not move. He held his ground, his posture, his disinterested stare. "Dog." He repeated. "Ye do as I say, and I'll give ye a bone to chew on, eh? The Captain will let ye live on he's ship and share his food and treasures. It is as fair an offer as ever could be made." He paused, then, insultingly, he gestured with his paw. "Sit."

The stranger at first only had his attention, but the mention of a share in food and treasures was enough to pique his interest. He was a perfectly capable solo hunter, but why waste the energy when someone else could provide the spoils? A place to live on this Captain's ship was also enticing, if confusing. The hell was a ship?

Regardless, the man hesitated a moment, thinking, before he lurched forward and broke into a sprint, thundering towards the black-bearded stranger as if aiming to barrel right into him. At the last moment, though, he skidded to a halt before him with a snort and shower of sand. Then, like the obedient creature he was, fell into a sit. As much as he refused to admit it, Gristle was easy to persuade and command — a true trained hound, as much Wednesday's as he was anyone else's.

If there was one thing he looked for in his crew (besides nice asses on the females), it was biddability, and the Captain had a number of methods for assessing this in his prospective recruits. In this case, a direct, belittling command.

The wolf charged him. Ferahgo held his ground, tipping his brown snout down and coiling his muscles to spring. He maintained this calm and calculating readiness until the last moment, at which point the wolf slid to a halt, dropping his rump into the sand as he had been commanded to do.

Ferahgo offered him a twisted smile. "Good boy." He said. "Come on ye, follow Captain Blackbeard." He gestured for his new crewwolf to follow at his shoulder as he lead the way.

So he had to bow to this stranger now, then? Whatever. He had already been under the command of Wednesday (more of less) and so was used to being given orders. It was a good thing too, for the man had no real ambition of his own. So long as he got his share of the caches and a capable sparring partner.

Blackbeard — fitting name — summoned for him to follow and Gristle responded with an obliging grunt, noting Wednesday's scent as he drew closer to the Captain. He made no comment on it, though, instead following his newest master to the island with a lazy wave of his tail.