Sequoia Coast outside, cold and ghosting out with jetlag

a lone and forlorn howl rose above the whipping winds, carrying across the sound before trailing off into a melancholy low. following the cry came the stilled form of the coywolf, her outline silhouetted against the strand. it appeared the small predator was alone, save for the strolling and nearly casual amble of her gait that suggested she was either comfortably home, or traveling amongst company.

the coywolf knew this beach well, and she combed through its cold shores rejoicing to have reunited with its familiarity. heedless to the bracing temperatures of the water she slid into the thrashing blue of the sea, sending gulls chattering overhead as they departed.

ok could not resist

he fled from the grotto with magma-infused eyes brimming with anguish and a mind half-full of compunction for how callously he'd behaved towards his brother. he did not care for the girl or her feelings, but he'd never been so carelessly barb-tongued with Ingram. at least, not in any earnest capacity. the feelings this interaction had brought up in him were wildly uncomfortable, and he didn't know how to manage them. he felt out of control--like an electrical storm moving up the coast. and whoever he encountered next would have to weather him. 

who else but her. 

an abject call traveled on the back of a gale-wind, familiar notes laden in its refrain. "mana...?" he muttered, cresting his head with brows knit together--mind swimming with confusion. she was gone to the sea. within himself, he could only reconcile her abandonment if reality affirmed of her passing.

he shook his head to clear the apparition of her voice. his emotions were trebled, and he was sure the intensity of them was causing auditory hallucinations.

he advanced forward through the eventide pall of light, eyes dancing along with the water's playful lapping at shore. his ears drew forth as a flock of gulls raucoused overhead, spooked by something in the water.

Ragged fur bounced along his shoulders, spiking messily in an assortment of places. Two molten orbs bobbed with the rhythm of his canter. The ghost followed behind as far as he dared himself. Her scent still hung on the breeze like a lazy perfume, drifting in and out of focus. Kierkegaard followed dutifully after, never wavering in his pace. Of course, he had never wavered before. As the two trekked along the shore, he found himself surprised that they had returned to the wilds at all. Then again, the ghost would have followed Caiaphas to the corner of the planet if that was where she had desired to travel. He could not imagine himself with another being; the pale brute could not have stomached the thought.

Large paws pressed into the sands as he traveled. Just as the coywolf faded from his line of sight, he picked his pace into a canter until he had slipped behind her no more than ten yards. The scent of a foreigner drifted on the wind, but he paid no mind. The mercenary plodded after the dark-hooded female as she made her way across the coast.

my BABIES

caiaphas cut through the rippling water, her long snout fording the roiling water in small rifts of seafoam. as she performed a serpentine in the water in the manner of a seal, she spotted kierkegaard drifting along the shore behind her. the ashen brute was perhaps the only wolf to ever tolerate her presence so gracefully -- caiaphas was aware she owed him quite a lot. her life, even.

she advanced from the sea towards him, pulling a wake of seeping water behind her that fell heavily from her coarse fur and spattered along the sand. as she reunited with him she became aware of a scent -- it caused her fur to stand on end and commanded her to stop, stock-still in shock.

the only thing to move on her body were her long mule-like ears, which pulled wildly in various directions -- she thrust her muzzle into the wind and wide-eyed, took several staggering steps forward to try to pull from the wind the direction of his scent. lycaon - it was unmistakable -- and there, distant on the shore, was a lone figure that blotted the cheerless grey of the strand. caiaphas threw her head above her and howled again, her heart fluttering in her chest as she awaited the distant figure's reaction.

he saw movement shifting through the shadows cast by tree and boulder and plashing wave and then he heard the bid meant uniquely for him--his pulse, connected to a live wire of anticipation, briskened with his pace as he began to sprint across the strand towards the slimtorn figure. she was complemented, though by whom he could not distinguish from the distance quickly furling between them--perhaps vlad? or kjalarr? he didn't linger on the question, he just needed her to be real.

his legs couldn't move him any faster and he stopped just short of plowing into her, skidding to a halt just feet from the former monarch. a sharp intake of breath punctuated by his chest swelling with apprehension. his eyes slid to the mercenary accompanying her, trying to dissect recollections of the argentite man. he didn't dwell, despite not remembering, and drew up to Caiaphas. "are you really here?" he whispered hoarsely.

he had to be sure. he extended his muzzle tentatively, touching her fur where nightshade transitioned to silver. he touched it as delicately as he would the florets of a dandelion, fearful she might dissassemble and spirit away with the breeze.

but it felt... real... "you're real!" he yipped, tail whipping furiously at his hocks as he made all manner of fond, whinging noises, besieging her chin with weaponized kisses (with a tongue that was magnetized to any evasive maneuvering of her head). "i thought you were gone, you never came back..." he had imagined this moment in his head night after night when he couldn't sleep--rehearsed what he would say, the guilt he would levy against her, if there was an alternate universe where she was alive and theatrically reunited with him. 

in the actual moment, he couldn't summon the drive to do anything except buy his head under her chin, trying with all his might to snuggle into her as if he were, again, the young puppy she had once claimed as her own.

The waif emerged from the waters and trudged toward him, showering the sands with drops and splashes that fell from her coat. He watched her with a pair of molten eyes, ears fixed on the woman as she closed the space between them. For as much as she believed she owed him, he would disagree with all of it. The sea witch had been the savior to many of his problems. She had housed him when injured and aided him when he had stolen a child from the wilds. All the while, Caiaphas never asked questions and always accepted him for what he was. Kierkegaard was only – always – dutifully hers. She breathed life into his ragged frame and sparked the burning fire of his gaze.

Something pulled the sea witch from him. She snapped her head to peer down the stretch of beach. Slowly, his head lifted and he drew his ears forward. Someone was there, after all. Her narrow muzzle parted in another sounding cry. She beckoned the stranger toward them. Out of the mist, a youthful body bounded. His expression did not falter as the young boy closed all distance between them. The ghost stood silently and watched as Caiaphas was showered in emotion and affection.

It seemed that this young man had known the coywolf before she had tumbled into the waters. He seemed attached to her on a level that Kierkegaard could not quite understand. His ashen frame swayed with the small gusts of wind brought in from the sea. Each rigid quill that stood along his neck and shoulders seemed to dance in the ocean breeze. His lengthy ears swiveled with each statement that poured from the stranger's mouth. Awkward as it might have been, the statuesque figure did not move from her side and watched – almost protectively – from the corner of his amber gaze.

and the end of her howl the shape came; a dart at first until it turned into the white-framed face of lycaon, young and hale and unmistakably alive. she readied herself for collision, her stance wide as she danced around him with his joy reciprocated in the high yips that sprung from her little jaws. she was not one for poetic entrances nor gushy heartfelt speeches -- "it's me, love" she crooned as he leapt about her. she pressed her chin to his soft fur in a gesture of both fondness and maternal intimacy - her son; the only one left -- here on her shores.

she buried her muzzle in his fluff, breathing in the scent of brine and flesh -- her own flesh, as far as she was concerned. her yellow gaze turned to her comrade, the bristle-grey guardian that watched them protectively. "kierke," she started, stepping back and pushing lycaon to face him: "this is lycaon, my son." she afforded a fond smile to kierkegaard and turned to lycaon: "lycaon, this is the wolf that saved me from the rip-tide."

he would have been content to sit there for the entirety of the evening with his head buried against her throat, getting refamiliarized with each individual tuft and shock of fur. if her presence could not heal his cognitive distortions, it would at least let him reminesce peacefully about bygone days when things weren't as riven and his innocence was more or less unscathed.

she stepped back to address the wolf accompanying her, now identified as Kierke (was he supposed to know the name? he strained his memory, and ultimately came up lacking the ability to peer in retrospect). his head, naturally, tried to follow her movements and richocheted off the sudden default in gravity--he braced his balance, jerking back his head. his eyes bulged with surprise but he recovered quickly as Caiaphas encouragingly prodded him to curtsy for her friend.

he, on the whole, would condescend to such a request. this man, this Kierke, however, she had alleged to saving her, and it was with utmost deference that Lycaon regarded her stolid salvager. 

"um, hey." he said, almost too simply. there was a loss for words. should he say thank you? or just 'hey'? did he need to explain there was no oedipus complex astir here? his tongue was lead in his mouth.

also, ahem, riptide? that oceanic menace he'd, time after time as a child, caught a scolding for drawing near? given it's imperceptible lethality and all that. Lycaon knew it wasn't terribly apt timing, but couldn't stop himself from turning to his mana and muttering: "you told me to stay out of the deep water because of riptides. you didn't have to prove your point..."

The two wolves shared in a dance of love. The ashen mercenary watched with an unphased expression on his rugged face. Both eyes were trained to the coywolf female. It was not his moment to partake in, but he was still quite determined to ensure she had him at her back in every occasion. His mind had wandered to the thought of losing her and though it was a dreadful thing to consider, Kierkegaard did not imagine that he would survive something of that caliber again. Surely, the young boy felt the same for Caiaphas. 

The sea witch turned the pale youth to face him. The ghost watched with a small frown on his dark lips. Amber eyes roamed over the young man before him. Her son... he did not have much to say. While Caiaphas was acting as the introducer, her boy did not seem too verbal. This was all fine. Kierkegaard was not a verbose character at all. To the greeting from the young male, the ashen brute bobbed his head lightly and grumbled a greeting that slipped through gritted teeth. He did not need to confess his feelings for Caiaphas to her young. The ghost had nothing to share with Lycaon. Perhaps, in time, he would find his voice. In the moment, he remained a watchful guardian. The length of his ears swiveled to catch their conversation, but nothing more. 

with exchanges met, caiaphas turned from lycaon and looked upon kierkegaard, who had regarded lycaon in the cool manner she had come to expect him to. her gaze flickered to the rough sea at mention of her folly -- briefly a sheepish smile appeared, but it withered as soon as it had become present on her sharp muzzle.

"we have much to do to reclaim the sound," she stated, brushing her muzzle fondly along lycaon's as she began to walk forward. the sound as of present was mostly desolate -- same as it had always been. in time, it would see a new leaf - and new beginnings.

the boy gave Caiaphas an unsure glance when her phlegmatic gargoyle remained just that -- phlegmatic and gargoyle-like. he felt his age saliently -- young and intimidated by this unnerving presence. stashed away in the privacy of his mind was the self-affirmation that he would keep a respectful distance... or so risk turning to stone like medusa's quarry. 

his attention was cinched by the lamial woman and his body followed the directive skim of her muzzle across his own, drawn as though by a magnet to her side. her intent to stake her return to the sound struck him like a cur. it reminded him -- "i found Ingram. or he found me." he offered, not knowing how she would react to him reconvening with his blood ties. "he's made friends here." he punctuated the word friends with an acute bitterness; he'd made more than just friends, it seemed, and Lycaon hadn't cooled off from that yet. "we've been searching for Wylla, but she's good at staying gone." he sighed.

as they treaded the briny scrim, Lycaon gave Caiaphas (and thereby, Kierkegaard) every final detail he had to give about their present situation until there was no more information to be supped from his memory.