Wheeling Gull Isle Don't be shy.

This is for @Blossom but its AW.

It was incredibly windy across the beach and that made travel very difficult for the light-bodied creature; he skittered along with his belly dragging a small trench through the sand, not that it mattered though since the whipping wind obscured his path as he went. The lower he kept himself the easier it was to stop from being blown over—but it made for quite the sight. His limbs were awkwardly long to begin with and his reaching steps gave the illusion of cartoonish sneaking. He reached an exposed sandbar just as the weather turned more foul, the clouds splitting and beginning to spit a light but icy rain. Around him the sea was just as adamant, if not more so, and bludgeoned at the sand bar as he slunk his way across it. By the time the slight creature had come to more solid land he was inundated by the scent of wolf—it was everywhere, and it was very strong. Had the sea been a little more tame perhaps he would have noticed it sooner, but as it sat, Ve'kesh was caught between an occupied space and the tumult of the angst-riddled weather.

he lingers along the outskirts of the island today, restless but wary of the strong winds and the promises of a storm marking the sky. the island is lovely, of course, and more than enough to keep him occupied — but there's something about being confined to one place that he can't quite get over. it makes him anxious.
so the sandbar is in his line of sight when a stranger begins to cross it, though he's not entirely sure what to make of it. he doesn't think he's been here long enough to know who all can come and go, but he doesn't recognize anything about the skeletal figure. in fact, he's reminded distinctly of the barrens as the other coywolf draws near enough to make out his features. it's not a pleasant reminder. sighing softly to himself, he moves to close the distance still between them. he halts only a few feet away, studying the stranger a little warily. do you have business here? he decides to ask, trying to keep his voice steady. he's not made for guarding borders, really, but he's doing his best and that's what counts. unless he dies — then it doesn't count at all.

The creature does not expect to get by unscathed, and by the time he crosses most of the sand bar he is soaked through—his grizzled pelt now saturated to the point of appearing of a deeper shade of graphite. The waves continue to crash; they are to be feared to a certain point, but they are not what worry him today. His sharp eyes have locked on to movement in front of him. There is a body creeping closer and he isn't sure he wants to stick around and be subjected to whatever customs this island-dweller perpetuates. He has no choice in the matter. A decidedly raucous wave splits over the sand bar and causes it to temporarily submerge in to the sea, and with it went the soggy boy.

He scurried for safety while the ocean crashed around him. He would've been swept away if not for his quick thinking—he rooted himself to one spot by grappling at a tangle of weeds, gripping tightly with his yellowed teeth. Once the wave subsided he raced for safety, and right in to the path of the oncoming stranger. At first Ve'kesh did not know what he was looking at; he was addled by the drumming of the waves, with salt water dribbling down his chin (even working his tongue over a chunk of some debris that had thrust itself deep in to his throat, he wad it up an spit it out just as the stranger began to speak).

They looked Zuldarian, like him. Tall and lean and familiar enough to allow him to drop some of his guard, except when he heard their voice that defensive, feral nature returned. He whipped his head up, and his too-long ears tilted forwards to catch the words. Ve'kesh should've known better then to assume someone from his southern tribe had made it this far north. Still, he was pleased by the sight of the woman—it warmed him in strange places when he looked over her rufus-red coat and her sharp contours.

He had yet to realize he was looking at a man, of course.

No way, he called out over the din of the poor weather, Da sea be fulla anga! It be a mistake to cross, yah? Ve'kesh be thankin' ya for some shelta, yes? Ok? He understood their language and tried his best to speak it back to them, but it would be hard with his heavy accent. All he needed was some place to wait out the storming sea. Once things calmed down he would skiddaddle his way back over to the mainland where things weren't so loud, cold, and frightening.

the sight of the soaked stranger inspires some pity, and he can't help but soften even if the other's answer isn't exactly what he'd hoped for. he moves closer, trying to catch some scent from the other. all he can smell is the sea. alright, he says, shifting uncomfortably and hoping he's interpreting that thick accent correctly. no one will mind if the dude just stays right here until the storm passes, right? he'll just have to... watch him. but you have to stay here, where i can see you. or um... the others on the island won't be happy. he really, really hopes this doesn't get him kicked out.

Later, when he was warm and dry and maybe even full of fresh meat somewhere in the future, he would look back on this moment and think that his gods were looking out for him. There were cautionary tales about traveling too far from one's tribe; he should have known better! The sea wasn't a new concept to him, but Vekesh and his people were not known to be comfortable around the salt water. If the sea was this tempermental then Vekesh would keep that in mind—he'd likely try to avoid contact from now on.

That said, he was overjoyed when the other coything took pity on him. Pity wasn't always a bad thing. Dank-ya! Dank-ya much, m-my fren, he couldn't quite agree to the terms (heck, he couldn't even say thanks at this point) because his gator-jaw began to clatter and snap from the cold. His teeth hurt, and he was so incredibly cold—so he skittered closer to the stranger, figuring that they had offered shelter and one of the caveats involved being watched at all times, but that didn't have to be right here did it?

He gave an imploring look to the girl as he slunk along, and then... Sort of did a double-take when he caught sight of something swinging in line with their underbelly, of which Vekesh had a pretty good view. Ah, ah, I... I do dank-ya, sirs, he just wouldn't mention his blunder. At least his embarrassment was helping him to warm up. To clear the awkwardness he felt from the air (even though it was likely one-sided) Vekesh tried to instigate more conversation.

What be dis place? Ed smell strong, like varg! Within his accented words lay a hidden question he didn't feel inclined to outline just yet; it was curious to the tribal boy that someone like this stranger, who was very obviously not a varg, would choose to live with them.

he almost chides the stranger for immediately disobeying his directions, but bites his tongue as he realizes it'd be cruel to make him stay in that exact spot anyway. it'd seemed like a better idea than letting him go further toward the center of the island, at least. he sighs, completely missing the other male's double take, though he catches the emphasis on sirs. his ears fold back slightly, but he doesn't say anything about it, instead gesturing for the other to follow him and turning to lead him to shelter under a tree. this is undersea, a pack, he tells him, glancing at him briefly with some confusion. what's a varg?

He gathered some unwanted information as he was herded along, and once the two of them were roosting beneath a tree with the din of the sea falling away, Vekesh could finally relax a little bit. His whole body was so frail looking, and having his sparse coat matted to his thin body only made things worse. The boy was quaking; he managed to side-step away from the stranger long enough to shake himself out, causing his winter mane to fluff along his spine haphazardly; once he was done, he squished himself against the dry patch of earth beneath the tree, where he would happily wait until the weather improved.

He'd just settled when he heard the second bit—the question—and for a moment all he can do is blink; the question was so obvious to him, and it caught him off-guard that such a term wasn't known to this creature. He licks his lips and then, as his face breaks in to an awkward smile he explains, Varg? Ah, a waulf, bigga den bode'a us togetha. But that didn't really need explaining, he thought, because the stranger had already told him this was a pack. Gross.

You live hea? Wid da vargs, or—? There was always the question. Vekesh did not trust wolves, at least pure-blooded ones, which could've been why he was so lenient and accepting of this stranger's ignorance and obfuscation. He couldn't be certain he could trust this person either but they had saved him from the sandbar and allowed him some space, which was a plus. Many of his people left the tribe and ventured through the world, only to return with horror stories; perhaps one such story was unfolding here.