Stavanger Bay her lips, just like a gun

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@Rosalyn
the north had been as stiff as it had been dull, and the blackthorn decided quickly that heading westward had been a spectacular idea. salt crusted in her fur; her muzzle bore a dozen small scars from where she'd stuck her nose at things novel and bitey. maple had come to appreciate the taste of whatever the ocean spat up, as well as the odd little creatures that roamed the strands. 

she'd avoided the first pack here, but at the second, did not veer away as she had before. she came to a pause at the border; despite her initial bluster at the northern pack, she was not in the habit of crossing them. howl left her upturned maw, quick and inviting, tongue finding a stray bit of snapping-thing lodged beside her canine.

lmk if you want me to delete!

the waves and her daily exercises had transformed erzulie into a salt-laced and hard-bodied thing beneath the honeycream curvatures of her pelt. while she truly was not a vain creature, the quartermaster was aware of her looks against the scarring and feral demeanour ironsea had wrought in her; she was unsure whether or not she wished such a stark juxtaposition.
no matter; a call on the wind lengthened the gait of her slim legs until she found a woman layered with colours that sparked familiarity in the recesses of the harlot's mind. it was in silence that she drew closer, mint-glow gaze discovering the feminine features of the stranger with a gentle expectation that the other speak.