The pine trees shuddered as a hot breeze coursed its way across their boughs. Beyond them, fields of tall grass trembled as if to protest against the salt-heavy air—and beyond even that, was the sprawling eastern beaches that wrapped their way around the island. The tide had withdrawn, licking its way across the sand and tugging detritus with it. However, it didn't take everything.
Beyond the saturated band of limp seaweed that followed a similar band of smooth rocks, there sat a large rock. It was more of a boulder really, and had gotten wedged in to the sand—it's girth descending in to the wet soil and, presumably, expanding in size the deeper it went. What wasn't covered in sand was peppered with barnacles. Beneath the sun it baked dry, while below its low-cast shadow, a great wet lump had been deposited.
A seagull coasted on the hot summer currents, watching the ocean for a few moments before diving towards the sea; but it drifted off of its course when it caught sight of the lump. Curious and hungry, the bird landed on the top of the large boulder and let out a shrieking call.
Sköll liked the beach, liked the feel of the warm sand, having baked in the sun, as it molded under his paws making a perfect impression of his paw leaving a trail that would, eventually be washed away by the rising tide. More presently he liked the ocean, found the roar of each wave as it crashed against the shoreline soothing and reminiscent of Odinn’s Cove. It was a rather large trinket of home, he felt. His mission on the beaches that wrapped around the Isle, however, were not usually for the simple pleasures. He had yet to abandon his search for Hati and Fenrir though with each passing week the outlook became more and more grim to the Tiny Viking until he was left with three possible considerations: they had returned to the Cove, they were lost somewhere out there, or (and this was the worst) they were dead. The last, being his least favorite was the possibility he always skirted away from finding some sort of lost wisp of hope that it was one of the first two; if the twins were dead then it meant he had failed even more than he already thought he had as a escort and that Kenna would tear him open steal his life and probably curse him from going to Valhalla while she was at it if she ever found out.
Returning to the Cove until he knew for sure what had happened wasn’t an option.
It was on one such patrol that he noticed something different. He had passed a certain boulder every time he walked this way but there was something else hidden in it’s shadow, something that it seemed to Sköll that a seagull was loudly trying to bring attention too, odd yet in that he would have never paid much mind to it before. The Tiny Viking hesitated, wanting to draw nearer but also not wanting too because he wasn’t entirely sure what the second lump was. So he settled for letting out a bark to see if it would rouse before he decided either way to draw closer or ignore it.
The gull perched itself after it called out, hunkering down atop the boulder without a care. Above it there were two more, circling like vultures, no doubt brought in by the summoning shriek—but the lump did nothing. The lump, being a lump, couldn't hear anything. It didn't notice the birds or the arrival of a curious wolf, and would lay there half-buried in the sand just like the stone which guarded it.
A second gull landed next to the first, hopping across the top of the rock in order to peer down in to the shadow; and finally the third, which still coasted on the air currents, dropped. It landed in the sand next to the shadow, nearer to the pale wolf. It was bold and curious, but as the wolf got closer the bird took off again, spooked by his proximity. The sharp motion scared the two resting birds, and so the trio took off in to the summer sky; they squawked in protest.
Their collective bludgeoning of the ears was enough to make the lump take a proper shape, at least partially. It shifted weakly against the sand but did not rise; a leg slid in to the light and it was then that the salt-encrusted fur could be seen. Four toes, a slicked mixture of gold-cinnamon-brown, with wet sand caking the digits.
Thus the facts presented themselves: It was alive, and quite possibly, it was a wolf.
Two more seagulls joined the first screeching in unintelligible discord to the Tiny Viking who paid them attention only because they alerted him to the fact that there was something in the shadow of the barnacle encrusted bolder he otherwise, typically ignored. Or maybe it hadn’t been the seagulls at all but Freyja’s or Frigg’s divine intervention. Sköll had no way to absolutely no for sure — it wasn’t as if the Gods were known for giving clear, decisive messages — or maybe that was just the Seers with their enigmatic at best answers. Regardless, something had encouraged Sköll to bravely investigate that which was presently strange. The third seagull which had been closer to him as he cautiously neared the boulder took flight upon his approach, the others rising to join it, briefly claiming the Tiny Viking’s attention as he watched them go with unveiled disgust on his face.
The sound of movement against the sand, brief though it was, roughly yanked the Tiny Viking’s attention back to the lump covered in sand only to see it weakly move. If he’d have looked away for even so much as a second longer he would have missed it entirely and might have passed the noise as nothing more than the softened rushing of the waves as they foamed and receded back to the collective body of water they yawned from. A leg presented itself from the shadows, encrusted with salt water and sand but it was definitely a leg and in a moment of sheer excitement his heart beat leapt into a frantic rhythm within it’s prison of flesh and bone until panic struck him in the next. It was a leg. Which meant that it was connected to a wolf. A wolf that did not seem to be in the best of conditions presently. For a moment Sköll hesitated unsure what to do. He could howl for someone but the language barrier that separated him from most of the others would only prove to make his telling of the news difficult. Maybe even impossible.
Cautiously, the Tiny Viking moved nearer to the shape and nudged it with his nose, in the weak hope that he could rouse it to awaken or rise or something. He pulled back unsure if he was allowed to touch it more than he already had (some wolves liked their space after all) and they were quintessential strangers even though his healer instincts begged him to draw closer to aid in any way that he potentially could.
The lump barely shifted when the pale wolf approached, although some part of it did feel a nudge. When the observer withdrew, there was nothing but stillness and silence—the ocean sounding bilious as it rolled about in the beyond. The birds returned then; but this time it was not just the gulls. While the seabirds circled upon the open air, a crow landed atop the boulder. It hopped across the surface with an eager, expectant loom to its body. Long-faced and hungry.
It hopped down and skittishly moved towards the lump, not phased by the wolf that stood so close by. It cawed at the lump, pecking at some of the fur and pulling, as if to test the boundary no doubt set by the watching wolf. Regardless of his reaction, the bird would hop and pester until properly chased away—but it would not be Skoll that did the chasing.
When a strong enough squawk rang out, the lump shifted again. This time it rolled, and there was a slick and wet sound from beneath. The sand held firm to the resting limbs of the creature, but after a lethargic roll they came loose. The lump's head now came in to view in the sunlight: a square head, long but rounded muzzle, and closed eyes. But as the crow continued to dance around it, pecking and pestering, somehow it woke up.
With water suddenly bursting from within the creature, the wolf began to cough and struggle for air. The sounds were chaotic enough to startle the crow, although not far—it took to roosting upon the boulder, watching the white wolf and the struggling soggy dog below.
There was a creature lying in the shadow of the boulder. It looked sort of like a wolf. It also looked sort of... well, dead. "Shit," Majesty mumbled, and he did not curse often. When he cursed, it meant he was truly bothered by something. Slowly, and ignoring Sköll for the moment, he went forward and sniffed at the creature who was lying there on the sand so helplessly. And then it started coughing, raising its head slightly to do so, and Majesty could see that it was a... a wolf? It looked more like a dog.
The Alpha shook himself. Now was not the time to differentiate. "Hello?" he said to the creature. "A-are you all right? Can you understand me?"
Sköll understood that it was probably the point in which he howled for someone but it was as if the mysterious leg entranced him and he just stared, uselessly, his attempts at rousing it working but in a very slow pace. In what was a moment of bewilderment a crow joined in on the party, different than a raven (though Sköll had nearly had a minor heart attack thinking that Odinn had sent Huginn or Muninn to communicate something). At it’s loud squawk that made the Tiny Viking wince and take a few steps back Majesty came bursting onto the scene and for the tiniest of moments Sköll’s attention went to his leader. He submitted though it was a rather wasted attempt as the earthen colored male more or less ignored the Tiny Viking’s presence in that moment. Though the Tiny Viking could not place why — surely the wolf who was covered in sand and presently hacking up water was of more importance — but he felt irritation that not even a brief glimpse could have been spared for a creature that was apart of his pack while the wolf under the sand wasn’t.
Nearly as soon as he felt it, guilt came slamming into him like a punching bag.
Silently (not that he could effectively communicate with Majesty anyway) Sköll stood there wondering if he shouldn’t leave since he was, more or less rendered useless.
What fell from her lips to the sand was a rising red sputum, a foam of striking pink quality that was swiftly absorbed in to the grains. The creature's head was raised for only a moment before it was dropped to the sand again, as the muscles holding it aloft were too strained from a previous struggle. The body of the dog began to quake—subtle shivering at first in the withers which spread through her tired muscles, until she could barely keep her torso lifted.
The dog then collapsed in to the sand. The sun streaked through the fur of her exposed face, although it was swiftly blocked out when a stranger approached. Majesty's words were heard (on some level), and the half-drowned girl managed to open her eyes and catch a glance of him, but she was wracked by further ills. Another coughing fit, with more of the froth emerging from the back of her throat, followed by seawater that had housed itself within her lungs. Her breath crackled as she struggled for a clean inhalation.
"Can you understand me?" Majesty had queried. The hybrid did not respond at first—but when her heart rate began to calm, when the rumble of her lungs became less obvious, she managed to give a slow nod.
Ark's eyes were attempting to focus on the speaker. Initially she saw the cinnamon pelt of her brother, his dark features and odd expression of concern; it had been ages since she had seen Harvey though, and this understanding jarred her mind in to seeing what was truly there. The wolf before her loomed in place. The familial concern Arkham thought she saw upon her sibling remained, but it was upon the face of a stranger. This put her in to an abrupt panic, and the girl tried to get to all four paws—scrambling to her full height, only to lean her bruised body against the boulder for support.
She licked foam from her lips before trying to speak.
What.. Who..?
With words punctuated by her desperate attempts to get a proper breath, it was clear that Arkham's body had been discovered in the nick of time; more importantly, she was coherent and alive. But not for much longer. The effort to speak coupled with her attempt to stand up only made her mind swim, and she began to physically sag. I... I'm goin' to be..
sick.
Sliding along the side of the rock face, Arkham drifted closer to the ground but she did not pass out as expected. Instead, her muzzle opened and a mixture of sputum, bile, and black-dried-blood erupted from her. The flavor of her vomit was nauseatingly metallic and caused a worrisome furrow to pass across her features.
The creature's eyes focused on Majesty, and then unfocused, and then focused again. And then she was suddenly on her feet, looking mightily confused and then dizzy, and then she mumbled incoherent words, turned, and vomited. Well. Majesty supposed he didn't need that yarrow after all, although the color of the vomit worried him. It suggested that she might be bleeding internally, considering the dark red-brown color of old blood mixed in with the usual color of vomit. What on Earth had happened to this poor female?
He waited for her to calm down from the wrenching, and then asked, "What happened to you? How did you wash up on shore here? Do you remember?"
If the foam was any indication then there could be no doubt: there were internal wounds inside the beast which needed tending, and yet she still protested. The chill of the stone would have been a relief to anyone surrounded by the heat of summer, and yet, Arkham was shivering. She remained against the stone as she gathered her wits, which were fleeting enough with the uncertainty caused by the concussion. The stranger's questions were met with a blank stare at first, which then transitioned in to a fog of confusion and hostility.
I was swimming.
That much was obvious. How else would she get so sickeningly soggy? How else did a creature such as her wake up this far out upon the beach? A ludicrous question that caused her to elicit a huff. Although that could've been from the possible pneumonia that had been bestowed upon her by the sea.I mean, I have been... Travelling. And when I came to the edge of the world, I followed the water.
The sound of her voice continued to crackle, and she had to pause to catch her breath. In the moment where she gasped a breath, her body sagged against the stone in an obvious show of weakness. I tried to drink it. I tried to... To fish it. But I failed.
The Alpha began thinking of all the possible plants he could use to help stop the internal bleeding and start the healing process, which would be long and painful, if the creature even made it through. Normally, internal bleeding, if not stopped immediately, was fatal. Let's see... he thought. Prairie Dock to stop further vomiting, which would only serve to weaken her more. Ironweed to strengthen the blood, which'll help the healing process. Poppy Seeds for pain. And maybe a few eggs taken from the cliffs, or some edible berries. She'll need to eat something, but nothing too heavy right now or she'll only vomit again.
He turned to the girl. "Can you walk? I need to get you to my den. You'll be sharing it with me for now, as I'll need to keep a close eye on you. You have some internal bleeding and that will kill you if we're not careful. There will be no argument on this. If you value your life, you'll find the strength necessary to walk to my den, or I will rally my wolves to carry you." He knew this information might scare her, and though he often tried to sugarcoat things to make them go down easier, he needed her to understand the gravity of the situation right then so that they would not end up dilly-dallying and killing her for lack of speed.
The world swam around her, and it was difficult to keep things straight. Balance was one thing that she apparently lacked for the time being, which is precisely why she rested against the rock. Majesty ranted at her for a bit—his words reaching her, but mostly drifting through her. It didn't matter. None of the medical mumbo-jumbo made sense to her in the first place, but when he began to make demands, she huffed with indignant resistance. Still, she was too weary to talk back with her usual gusto—so instead she nodded and took a daring step away from the boulder which kept her standing. Ark faltered and stumbled, nearly careening in to a pale wolf which had gone unnoticed.
He purposefully used the phrase, "when you're better" so that she wouldn't be more alarmed than she might have been already. She had not been very responsive to anything he had said so far, but that didn't mean she couldn't hear him still, and sometimes even the thought that you would make it was enough to cause your body to heal itself.
Slowly, they walked inland, heading for the forest where Majesty made his den.