Cerulean Cape to haunt, to startle

The brute did not see her for some time. His mind was occupied with his travels and the quiet beating of the ocean against his limbs and toes. The shores were some of the most beautiful that he had ever seen. They were perfectly wild, untamed by anything – even those who claimed them – and he felt almost humbled to find himself in the presence of such a powerful sight. It did not matter how many times he would witness it, the ghost did not know that he could ever leave it behind. Perhaps there was a portion of him that was tied to the waters by his birth, but Smokestep would have vowed otherwise. It had been the blood of the Cairn wolves that flowed through him. Their bond with the waves was mighty and fierce, and for this he carried pride in his chest.

Drawing his gaze upward, the pale seafarer caught sight of her figure. Her coat was patchwork and strange, but she did seem beautiful in her own right. Smokestep drew his tongue across his dark lips and the whiskers along his muzzle before he lowered his skull and began to trek forward. Once he had found himself close enough, the pallid creature lifted his head and chuffed quietly to the woman. After having announced his presence to her, he stepped forward again and his tail wavered behind him softly before it fell between his hocks.

“Ahoy, lass,” he barked. A charming and crinkled smirk settled onto his face, and the pirate peered at her from his crimson optic, squinting the other shut. He had always imagined that it was wisest to find those of like mind in similar places; to belong to the sea, one must be found by her waters.