Sea Lion Shores let the sharks come ‘round to feed
All Welcome  January 10, 2019, 11:49 PM
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Seeking ONE other participant, please. His rib cage markings are not prominent, as he is streaked with soot. If there’s no interest, I’ll just archive it as READ ONLY. ^^

CAVEATS: I am a slow poster and Sizzle is a grump.

        The wavewracked mariner’s broad paws slurred haphazardly across the terrain in a zigzagging pattern that seemed devoid of rhyme or reason. Without Skellige to command him — without Doe to drive and guide him — without his children to steady him — Szymon was little more than a husk of a creature, borrowing existence, borrowing the air that filled his lungs, borrowing time. He was a squatter on this earth, owning no currency or tender, a beating heart and a mouthful of teeth and a tripping tongue. With his muzzle and shoulder, he tasted and tested a broken crumbling of crag beside the gyrfalcons’ eyrie — he remembered this place, kind of. Doe was going to crack one of the eggs against his head, any minute now.

        He waited, still as a statue, his body contorted strangely. There was a painful-looking hump to his spine, and his threadbare tail twitched spasmodically. It was evident that he’d been chewing at it; the whiplash of scabbed-over alopecia was dotted with new hair growth here and there, but any remaining fur was stained the color of rust. His paws, too, were stained — but at least they were not bloody and purulent. The Sea had taken his malady from him, as She always did.

        Only…She didn’t talk to him anymore. Not like She used to.

        Szymon knew that this was his own fault. He’d found something he loved more than the Sea, more than Warsaw, more than the Cairn legacy. One hind limb kicked out at an odd angle, and his head dipped lower than the crest of his shoulders, which appeared sharper and more angular due to the spiky disarray of his salt-laden pelt. Coal and soot turned him into a piebald creature, with a swatch of the same stuff smeared across his cheek like a monochrome firemark. “D-D-Doe?” he quaked.

        He had to whisper, because the Sea was listening — Skellige, too — and when they drew too close to him, he whipped around and snapped his jaws irritably, baring yellowed fangs in an eloquent warding off gesture. “D-D-D-Doe,” he hissed, lifting his head jerkily to crack the tension from his neck with an audible crrrk! and shaking out his fur. He was tired of playing now. Qilaq was home at last — he’d thought Doe was happy about that! — so why was the scrappy little witchdoctor hiding from him?