Stavanger Bay Spirit cold

She dreamed vividly of her family, her real family: Harlyn, Mordecai, Silas and Pippin. They were back home in Lost Creek Hollow. The locusts had never come, the famine had never struck. Everybody was happy and healthy. Larkspur gloried in it, up until a dark cloud moved in overhead. She hated storms. She shivered as she looked up to the sky, then made to press closer to her mother. But when her guileless blue eyes dropped, her parents and brothers were nowhere to be seen.

"Mommy! Daddy!" she cried, jumping to all fours, heart beating frantically. Thunder rumbled right over top of her and Spur let out a squeak as she began to run through the familiar forest. "Silas!" she called plaintively. The usually nimble youngster caught her ankle in a root and fell flat on her face. She spluttered and waited for the pain to hit. It never did, though she didn't really question it. She just stood and resumed running, the air darkening all around her until it was pitch black.

Her mouth opened to scream Pip's name this time—"Pippin!"—and she sat up gasping, blinking blearily at the shadowy walls of a den. Heart beating wildly in her chest, Sharkbait blinked in the darkness. She made out a shape nearby. Daddy... she thought dimly as her eyes adjusted and she recognized Skellige's hulking form curled nearby. Somehow, that title felt incredibly wrong. Actually, everything felt wrong. Sharkbait had no recollection of the dream but her usual anxiety was dialed up to fever pitch.

Breathing hard, she tiptoed around the sleeping Leviathan and tumbled into the still August night. The air was balmy but the instant she set foot outside, a breathy little breeze tousled the red fur at her nape. The youth gulped in breaths, trying to steady herself, and looked out to the nearby sea. The pounding surf reached her ears and the waters glimmered under the light of the moon. It was all by now rather familiar but something about the picture continued to unsettle her deeply. A full-body shudder wracked her.

Just for something to do, the Benthos began to plod west across the bay's territory, trying to identify the feeling swelling in her chest. But she just couldn't figure it out. She was pining for something... but what? Sharkbait swallowed and stilled, finding herself staring inland now, sad and frustrated by her inability to put a finger on the sensation growing and growing inside of her, unaware that she was experiencing a poignant brand of homesickness.

My brain is super clunky. Sorry for this post! ;-;

It had taken some time, but the golden-eyed Cairn was finally beginning to warm to Qilaq’s presence in Doe’s den. More often than not, he slept in or near the entrance, though he could be persuaded to inch nearer if Doe expressly requested his presence. Sometimes, though, he felt within the little sea urchin’s constant presence an insurmountable anxiety — she was tiny and fragile, and her occasional cries still caused his hackles to spike with inexplicable irritation along his spine.

Tonight he was simply restless, and he carefully extracted himself from Doe’s side to exhaust his energy in the Sea. He enjoyed the nights the scrappy little witch doctor beckoned him near and he could preen the nape of her neck and shoulders until she fell asleep — he normally didn’t sleep when he was that close to his Chosen One and their small, precious ward. Webbed paws spread as he padded quietly out into the sand with a jaw-cracking yawn, making for the shoreline.

Before him was the golden child who the Sea had returned to Skellige — Sharkbait. Writ upon her youthful features was an unhappy expression, which did not precisely surprise the golden-eyed boy, but he felt that he had played a part in it by targeting her attention during the blessing. One did not apologize to a child — and yet he wished to appease her in some way, for her flightiness was concerning. Skellige wanted her, and therefore she would have to remain here; but Szymon had gained a measure of understanding for small, young creatures after his experience with Qilaq and hoped to entice the pixie-like girl to stay. “S-S-Small one,” he intoned quietly, wondering if his words would carry the same weight as Skellige or Doe’s. His bass timbre was as gentle and non-threatening as he could make it, but he didn’t think to lower his position. He merely stood, gazing upon her intently, as he commanded, “C-Come here.” As an afterthought, “P-P-Please,” he added, one tattered ear fanning out toward the surf, betraying the unease he felt.

Jack Mercer...!

Something white moved in the darkness and the child's attention snapped to it immediately, over-sized blue eyes tracking the movements. It quickly took on the dimensions and features of a wolf and it only took Sharkbait a beat to recognize him. She swallowed and crouched on the sand. He was the one who had touched her during the ceremony, wiping blood on her and causing her to run away to Skellige's den. Her tail flicked apprehensively as he approached her and began speaking. His stutter took her by surprise. It reminded her of something (or someone) but what (or who)?

He beckoned her closer but Sharkbait remained frozen, wondering what he could possibly want with her. Was he going to touch her again? Smear more blood on her? His coat looked clean, glowing faintly beneath the light of a partial moon, and she didn't smell that telltale coppery scent. Still, her anxiousness held her back, even though there was part of her that wanted to obey. He frightened her and Sharkbait simply couldn't help herself.

Yes! ;-; A golden heart in a bad situation.

Szymon’s eyes bored into the young wolf who cowered before him. He knew she could see him, hear him — but she did not heed his command. Only the fact that her eyes were wide and fixed and frightened soothed the flicker of annoyance that stiffened his spine and lifted his hackles — he knew what it was to be frightened. “I w-w-will n-not t-t-touch again you if you d-do not w-wish it, small fish,” he muttered, “b-but if you r-r-run th-this time, I will b-be f-forced to s-s-stop you.” She had run from the blessing — not even the great Sea Turtle could grant her fortitude. The black-banded Cairn was not an eloquent creature, and he did not know how to speak to the child; his tail twitched like a live wire as he twisted his clumsy tongue within the confines of his mouth. “H-Has no one t-t-told you why th-the ceremony was p-p-performed?” He did not expect the little wolf to trust him, but there was a weak, soft part of him that wanted her unhappiness dispelled. He simply did not know how to go about achieving that — or whether it was even possible.

He stammered out a reassurance that he would not touch her against her will. Before Sharkbait could think of relaxing any (not that it was likely), he followed up with a threat. The youth swallowed thickly. She was not thinking of running and she didn't mean to disobey. She couldn't help herself. Her entire world was blurry and confusing, tinged with fear, and this wolf was perhaps the most frightening of all.

Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. In response to his direct question, she shook her head numbly. She still didn't move closer to him, yet she didn't turn tail and run either. If he stayed where he was, then so would she. If he came closer, she wasn't sure she could stop herself from running, which sounded like it would end badly. Sharkbait hovered there in precarious, uncomfortable and nerve-wracking limbo.

Szymon’s tattered ears fanned out to the sides of his narrow skull like a gull’s outstretched wings as he disappointedly regarded the child who cowered before him — before Szymon, of all wolves — a wolf who had once crept and crawled as omega. Perhaps it ought to have given him some kind of pleasure, being regarded as truly fearsome for maybe the first time in his young life, but he lacked a great deal of the malevolence his siblings wore so plainly. The Sea was testing him, he knew; Qilaq, at least, was biddable, but he was still vastly uncomfortable around her. Sharkbait was another entity entirely, one he could not make heads or tails of. If he offered food, she’d likely spurn it; if he tried to approach her, he was sure she’d flee like the small, scurrying beasts he snapped between his teeth. So he curled his haunches beneath himself, faced the Sea with an expression of aggrieved resignation, and lay like a sphinx in the sand without looking overtly at the little fish — wary as ever of her propensity for flight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the mechanical shake of her head and then the compassion that lurked somewhere within his charred heart did send tendrils of feeling through him and soften his expression and speech. He knew what it was to be panicked to the point of not being able to speak, and just as Skellige had done for him so many times before, he kept his questions for Sharkbait limited to those that could be answered with a shake or nod of her golden crown. Keeping his bass timbre low and devoid of the irritation that yet flickered within him, tensing his muscles that were ready still to leap to the chase, “Your Amayo,” he said, carefully sounding out the word that was still very new to him, “w-w-would be b-better to explain things, b-b-but I will try.” He licked his own lips, gathering his thoughts.

“Small j-j-jellyfish, d-do you hunger or th-thirst?” he asked first, biding his time as he tried to figure out where to begin.

Perhaps he sensed the precariousness of her position. When he laid himself out on the sand, Sharkbait breathed a tiny bit easier, though she did not relax. Her eyes squinted slightly as she studied him, reading his body language like a book. He appeared rather nonthreatening like this, though she didn't trust him. Her mind kept flicking back to that eerie night when Skellige and Amayo had demanded they bathe in blood, the touch of a strange and gored paw touching her. Sharkbait shuddered.

When he mentioned Amayo, her gaze flickered across his face, then dropped to a point somewhere in the sands between them. She listened, wondering again at his stutter. It intrigued her for reasons she couldn't name and bred more of that strange and unhappy feeling deep down in her core. She almost didn't process his words. He wanted to tell her more about the ritual, although Sharkbait had no desire to learn more. And then he wanted to know if she was hungry or thirsty, his formal phrasing nearly as thought-provoking as his stammering.

Again, she simply shook her head in reply. She didn't want to talk to him or to anyone, really. She just wanted to be left alone to the darkness and the weird sense of loss stirring in her breast. Sharkbait sucked in a breath and drew the cloak of anxiety tight around her spry shoulders, metaphorically speaking. She wondered if he would keep poking and prodding at her or if he would eventually give up and leave her on the moonlit beach.

A jellyfish she truly was, flaccid and spineless and near to quivering with the fear she felt; the bitter scent of it assaulted Szymon’s nostrils and he wished to see it gone. If only she had given herself wholly over to the Sea! Her spirit guide, spurned by her rejection before the bond had ever been forged, might have helped her and strengthened her — yet now that she had turned her back on the Sea, she would be lucky not to be cursed by it. Whether or not the golden child wanted to sit through the lesson, Szymon would see it done — he would not have her fester in ignorance when perhaps explaining this could open her veiled eyes to the glory that she remained willfully blind to. The black-banded Cairn, for all his prowess in battle, was woefully inexperienced when it came to the inner workings of a puppy’s mind. Having endured abuse throughout his childhood, he had found succor in the Sea, his spirit guide, and his brother, and he could not understand why this small creature did not feel the same.

Having gathered his thoughts, reassured that the blue-eyed girl was as comfortable as she would ever be given her anxiety, “Y-You are y-y-young, but old enough to know — w-w-wolves are b-born of the earth. F-Few wolves are b-b-blessed by the S-Sea as y-y-you are.” He cast her a sidelong glance but did not look overtly at her, unsure as to whether she understood how lucky and fortunate she truly was. “The S-Sea g-g-gave you to this l-land; now, it is y-y-your birthright. Sk-Skellige and Amayo care f-for you though y-y-you are not of th-their b-bodies. Th-The c-c-ceremony asks f-for the blessing of the S-Sea for all w-wolves who inhabit this land.” He paused for breath, and to silently loosen his jaw, his tongue flicking reflexively as though he had something caught in his throat. Long passages of speech could create within the young wolf a feeling of needing to gag or retch. “You are s-s-small and f-frightened; I was the s-same when I was young,” he murmured, his voice reaching a new level of quiet. He was not precisely ashamed of his past, but he preferred to bottle it up and lock it away.

“Y-You were to r-r-receive a s-spirit guide, to h-help s-strengthen you,” he told her. “A c-creature born of the S-Sea as w-we c-c-could never be. The b-b-blood is c-cleansing, to p-purify you.”

She didn't care for the information he was so determined to force upon her, yet she couldn't help but listen. Sharkbait stilled, a breath caught in her lungs, when he said that these lands were her birthright but, in the very next breath, said that she wasn't of Skellige's and Amayo's bodies. Her gaze lifted, full of questions she didn't dare voice, before dropping again. She knew Amayo wasn't her mother but Skellige was her father, so the strange wolf's words didn't make sense.

She didn't register much of what he said beyond that, suddenly caught up in her own confusing introspection. Sharkbait felt like she was standing at the edge of a black hole, staring into it but unable to see what lay at the bottom. Whatever was down there, however, was important. And she desperately wanted to see it. But of course she wasn't about to pitch herself into a deep black hole, metaphorically or otherwise.

Suddenly her head began to pound, distracting her from her peculiar company and even the nameless feelings assailing her. "I need to get back to bed," she murmured, unwittingly ignoring everything he'd just been trying to tell her. Sharkbait shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he would try to hold her back if she started to leave.

♥ Last post for me! Let me know if you want anything changed. ^^

Somewhere along the line, Szymon had failed. He could not impress upon the jellyfish that she belonged here — belonged to Skellige and Doe and the Sea. The golden child had been reborn thanks to Her gracious leniency, forgiven for the crime of trespassing, but she was an ungrateful, impenetrable thing. He found himself puzzled and irritated as she stated simply, “I need to get back to bed,” and knew her to be a truly lost cause — beyond saving or educating. Why had the Sea given the Blackrock warband this child? He couldn’t understand. Surely she was meant to grow tall and strong in Skellige’s shadow, her fangs and talons to be bloodied in battle and whetted with salt. Later, Szymon would bring a sacrifice of his own to the lapping waters, seeking counsel for this confusing girl. Perhaps he’d gone about it the wrong way — perhaps it was his stutter — but he couldn’t find the lesson he was meant to take from their awkward interaction. No matter what, Skellige would be disappointed and perhaps Szymon himself would be blamed.

His heart hardened against Sharkbait in that moment, and his golden eyes glinted with ire as he rose to his paws. “I will see you h-h-home,” he rumbled in a tone that brooked no argument. He settled his eyes upon her, intent that wherever she went, he would follow. If she wanted to sit on this beach until the end of eternity, he would see it done — but he was determined she would not set foot outside the territory borders. “Go home, Sharkbait.” If he could not educate her, he would at least ensure that she returned to Skellige’s side.

He insisted on seeing her home, which caused the fur along Sharkbait's spine to ripple in disquiet. She didn't get the feeling he was trying to protect her so much as make sure she didn't run away. But the pup had no intention of doing so. As off kilter as everything felt to her these days, she slowly rose from the sands and skulked directly back toward the Leviathan's den. She would gladly take Skellige over this looming stranger. She denied every instinct to look over her shoulder as she went, though she felt his eyes on her back, and might have scrambled the last few steps before leaping behind Skellige's snoozing form. The breath gusted silently from her lungs as she hunkered down out of view and, only after a long while, managed to fall asleep.