Blackbeak Bluff anchors away boys

-- at blackbeak bluff: sunset --

The briny wisps of saltwater tantalized his senses – a moth, to flame, his liberty pilfered by the enticingly warm embrace of oceanic familiarity.  On the wind he heard her siren tongue (come, come to me!), the waves filtering through the craggy teeth that jutted upward from the ambiguous blackness, hissing against the friction – crashing alike a tempest against a stalwartly immovable face of chipped stone and dogged brows.  The lackadaisical progressions of a steadied, casual gait are swallowed by the bellicosity of the watery goddess and her turbulent nature; even as he grows impatient and quickens his pace to reach the precipice on which he can admire the vastness of fluid pitch (light swallowed as the sun waned) he is no match for her warring cadence.  She is not to be trifled – a sultry seductress that purified in the same breath as she ruthlessly asphyxiated.
 
Vermillion toes kissed the edge, precariously perched above a sooty maw and snaggle-fangs, growling gullet gushing upward to feather sanguine furs in refreshing pearls of acrid dewdrops.  The metallic varnish of his gaze glistened over with admiration: he had missed this beatific scenery, the inviting shoals and watery lips which pressed tenderly against his heels on the shoreline.  He was unacquainted with this land – up here, on high, it afforded him a bit of much-needed clarity, and his eyes swept hungrily over the exquisitely sewn patchworks of land below, threaded so tenderly they seemed seamless as they converged alike silken fabrics.  He quickly discerned the speediest route to the nearest beach – a shoreline with which he can once again romance the tempered rivulets of his fickle, liquescent lover.  Though he did not immediately retreat to his task, for now enamored into quiet stillness by the magical quality of the venue.

The never-ending horizon as the light faded beneath the curtain of the sea –

– and he, shipwrecked.

ooc; hey there, welcome to wolf! i hope you don't mind me?

strange indeed, how she sought the coast instead of the marshy wilds. she was accustomed to the swamps more so than a seaside venture. mayhap it was due to her seeking a change from the endless winter season. white there. white here. more white over yonder. at least the coast seemed to be in constant turmoil. a forever changing thing. she had not yet found a marsh either way and perhaps if she had she would have lurked within it instead. 

for now, she would wander this area. deadset on lurking nearby to the massive amount of packs in the area. out of sheer boredom. or was it defiance? she was not on their land. she had been informed of such things, however brief the interactions had been. the bay was no longer an option. she would find somewhere else. the cliffs seemed a good place to obtain the lay of the land, and there she went. mindful of the bluff's state, an er to caution was given. 

ahead of her now was the approaching other. pale gaze flickered over the man, his fiery coat a change of pace compared to the greys. the whites. the blacks and the browns. he seemed intent on the lower half of the landscape. wherein she rose, he descended. shifting her body to the side to allow him passage, she watched him with a spark of interest. nothing more. it was up to him to initialize conversation. though if he looked at her, she would give him a short dip of the head.

of course not, dear! and thank you very much! i look forward to writing with you~<3

The rouge of the skyline began to deplete, a starburst of oranges and sherbet yielding to the darkness of vivid nebulas and crystalline constellations.  Soon, the wiles of the marine empress would sedate, her irked swells quieted under the assuaging blanket of nocturn, whose influence could tame even the mightiest of menfolk: her waves lost to ambiguity, where he could no longer admire her magnanimous splendor.  He could still seek her touch, however; although brusque with the drudge of season, he was not discouraged – he’d bed more venomous women than she.  He turned from the precipice, a final upsurge spewing from frothy jowls to spray his heels in a volatile farewell as he began to descend the monolithic peak, eyes casually trained upon the distance – ah, but who was this?  This chromatic dove tiptoeing into view, her wraith-like bodice pulled to the fickle rhythms of the wind as she danced light-footedly across a dancefloor of dormant verdure and frail saplings leeched of exuberance.  She was approaching, though by her tentative ambulation, readied to avoid him.  A smirk is swallowed beneath a stoic, stoned jaw, his stride unaffected as he continued to descend the steepness of the peak.  Soon, the airs of their presences crossed, and she shifted, his peripheral noting her gaze and expression of curiosity which seemed to bore into his ruggedly torn visage.  His mercurial visions snapped up to meet her, the stifled grin now wiring across his maw – “Come to enjoy the view, love?”  It is a question harboring two answers – a pointed, egotistical query, matched only in predatory timbre by the silvery glow of his half-lidded lenses.  He was by no means shy.  She was beautiful, he was a man of many deplorable values – what else could be said?

ooc; same to you kite! <33

"you may say that" she replied to the man shortly. gaining an advantage over a new landscape was something expected of herself by now. she sought the contents of the world itself. she could do no such thing if she allowed sloth to reign free in her actions and mindscape. Huntington did not miss the look he had given her; a sort of look that one would gift a piece of meat. hungry. gluttonous. unfortunately for him, she did not care for the easy pleasures of the flesh. he would go home hungry indeed.

"are you quite new here?" instead she asked a query of the man. he did not appear to be bred to these simple minded folk. no, there was a spark of cunning that one usually did not see in these wilds. amusing. mayhap he could be some form of entertainment after all. if he was not foreign, then perhaps he could give her directions. it would be up to her to follow them, though she could feign interest in a man's pride like all the rest of these vacant women.

“Quite,” it is a tease – a honied syrup that drips from a viperish tongue, the silvery slits of his eyes wrinkling with mischief.  Well – he certainly couldn’t leave now with such stimulating company, quietly reserving himself to postpone his journey to seek the shoreline.  She was but a gaze away, after all; her deific resonance strumming the pliant hairs of his ears as though the winsome strings of a violin.  Under that ragged – and in some places, matted – pelt of vivid vermillion, the sinewy threads of his wiry frame burned with fatigue.  He’d be lying to himself if the sedative pleasures of rest did not appeal to him – did not whisper promises of much-needed restoration, regardless of the inebriating woman which compelled him to respite his hungering, migrant feet.  “I tend not to stay in one place for too long,” he divulged, rounding her with silent consideration, before slithering up upon her opposite side – the depleting sun catching the ragged scars carved into his face, “people tend to not find me very agreeable.”  A thread of a simper – a macabre jest at his own expense.  “What say of you?”  What’s your story, little dove?

@Huntington