You are lost and I am gone.

Referencing the storm that's currently hitting the coast / NP. All welcome! But Tryphon is having an episode so he might not recognize your wolf.

The rain came down hard, and was utterly unexpected; but that was how things had become for Tryphon. Nothing made sense to him - especially the erratic weather. He had woken from a quick snooze to the sound of the drops hitting the trees, and then the sky seemed to open up. For the boy, who had taken to sleeping on the pack's outskirts recently, that meant he was sopping wet before he had a chance to really collect himself. The wind whipped through the trees and chilled him to the core. It howled across the hills, and pressed in on him from all sides.

Maybe it was because he had just awakened, but Tryphon felt a strangeness to these events that far outweighed a simple downpour; he felt the stirrings of a memory, or at least the tingling in the back of his mind like he had forgotten something. This all felt so familiar - the scent of ocean water, the push and the pull of the wind - no, the tide! But had he ever been near the ocean before? Yes, with his mother. His mother from the north, or his mother from the sea? Or the river-mother that had found him? Or Bazi - her scent was strong across the territory, and even with the rain the markings of Nova Peak were impossible to ignore. Nova Peak - no, that isn't home. Home is the sea. Home was the mountain. Home was -- He didn't know.

It was too confusing. Tryphon's mind was too muddied, and he pressed himself down against the earth, sequestered between a copse of trees, with the hope of avoiding the eddies of wind - of water? Did you survive the sea? The rain poured down, soaking him from head-to-tail even with the cover of the forest. He dragged himself away from that cover, mindless, confused, his head feeling as if it had been split open on a rock - you hit it when you swam. You can't swim, Larus -

"That's not my name!" He shouted through the din of weather, tasting the salt of the sea upon his tongue and the ice of the north within his skin. How did the wind speak? How did it shout these things at him? His body shivered - soaked through, going numb - and he stumbled on through the trees. The boy only stopped when he caught the edge of the world with his toes, and tripped on his own feet as he fell. His chest hit the edge of the ridge and he curled up instinctively, narrowly missing an easy death.