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AW! But would love to meet anoyone from Fujiwara Dinasty before trespassing your border ehehe

His mind had been shrouded in fog—he no longer knew how, nor where, his steps had carried him. Where had they all gone? Masa-dono, the radiant Naitin Garu, gentle young Lady Kaede and her wretched Kitsune, Ryujiro-san and his Gaijin, Suyin… That strange company had become his pack. Though he found fault with each of them in his own way, he missed them nonetheless.

Yet, far from being crushed by sorrow or regret, the black-hooded samurai had come to focus on his foremost purpose: reaching the coast. From where he stood, he could already feel the nostalgic caress of the salt-laced breeze. He was drawing closer—at last, he could see it. And beyond… an island. An island he observed from afar, across the water. An island that, from this distance, stirred memories of his own, adorned with splendid flowering trees. They were not the elegant sakura of his homeland, but they offered a kindred beauty.

Interwoven with the sweet fragrance of blossoms and the breath of the sea was another scent—acrid, rank—the unmistakable trace of a pack. The man beneath the black hood wrinkled his nose. More gaijin? More vile, ill-bred beasts?

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Spring had made the sea much more manageable to traverse - Chou had wasted no time crossing the channel that split the Rest from the mainland and enjoying the swamp's springtime blessings it had to offer. Thunderstorms and peat-laden scents, fawns tucked in the dappled shade and frogs competing for obnoxiousness amongst the cacophony of renewed life.

She had spent the morning hours on the mainland, foraging around and assessing the prey-scents in the area to determine if it was worth crossing the channel to let the population of food on the Island recover a little. But the huntress now returned to the seaside, chin lifted to let the breeze caress her face as her petite paws picked their way nimbly around rocks and sand.

She didn't notice the man's scent - he blended into the sea seamlessly. His pelt was like the sand scraped off the seafloor, topped with the deepest shadows curled in the waves' cradle. Her mink-lined ears pricked with interest - the wolf stood, staring at the distant purple smudge of the wisteria flowers. Perhaps he knew of the Dynasty, or the Fujiwara clan? Perhaps not - and asking was out of the question, of course.

The huntress approached, angling herself so she'd be well within his peripheral vision before she was within range of his fangs. Her head was cocked slightly with curiosity, as she glanced meaningfully between the distant island and the shadowy stranger. Choumi knew even with the salt-water still faint on her now-dried coat, beneath it lay the possessing miasma that marked her as one of the Dynasty. Do you know them? Do you wish an audience with the Empress? - concepts too complex to communicate clearly, but she hoped he'd extrapolate whatever queries necessary from her questioning gaze to sate her curiosity.

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thanks for joining ;u;
Tag for mention

She seemed to have stepped out of nowhere—a brown-clad woman who had suddenly materialized within his line of sight. Unlike some of the wildlings he had come across in distant lands, this one was no towering giant looming several heads above him. She stood there, petite and poised. She lacked the noble grace of young Lady Kaede, and did not possess Karavira's irresistible allure. Yet, by Shinjou’s own reckoning, she was still a sight worth admiring.

His scrutiny, unabashed and far from subtle, had allowed his gaze to drift openly along the brunette’s silhouette. Once satisfied, he moved closer—just enough to speak without needing to raise his voice.

おい、そこのお前—向こう側には何がある the samurai asked, gesturing toward the flower-laden island with the tip of his snout. Beneath the delicate fragrance of citrus that clung to her, he caught a hint of briny air—an aroma that seemed to have latched onto her during a crossing. Or so he thought; perhaps he was mistaken.

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The man turned toward her, bright green eyes sizing her up without bothering to mask the way the electric shade skirted across the huntress' body critically. Choumi swayed her tail stiff and slow behind her, mimicking the stranger's actions - he was not tall, but he was taller and stockier than she. She decided if he chose to try anything violent, she'd try to outrun him first - a show of strength wouldn't be in her favor, but she would bet she could get the upper-paw if she could out-maneuver him. The thought put a gleam in her mismatched gaze, anticipatory of the chase although that would be a less-than-ideal scenario.

He seemed satisfied with what he saw, and she flashed him a bright, quick grin of her own as he approached, apparently open to a conversation. How wonderful - Chou had not been looking forward to an otherwise uneventful day. She was not a natural speaker of the tongue he spoke in, but she had been diligent about picking up an understanding of it from the locals in the Dynasty. She offered a curt nod in response; I do. She pressed her paw to make a clear imprint in the damp sand, before repeating the motion a few more times and motioning at herself and the fresh set of pawprints in the sand. The island has many others - all mine.

She glanced up at him expectantly, expression a bit pensive and apprehensive.

She did not appear timid; without a word, she had immediately given herself over to a strange sort of ritual. Intrigued, the black-hooded samurai leaned in, examining the creation fashioned by the woman in the brown coat. Paw prints in the sand—several, aligned in a deliberate pattern. What could she possibly mean?

Shinjou was no artist; his mind was shaped for war, for the discipline of combat. When it came to riddles, he was woefully inept.

He sat down, perplexed, his ears twitching uncertainly, unsure of how to hold themselves atop his head.

うむ。実に美しい he murmured, tongue caught between his fangs, his lip curled more from frustration than annoyance. 足跡…　お前は足跡だ。島も…足跡がある he attempted to interpret, resigned, before the meaning finally began to dawn. He repeated, softer this time, 島も…足跡がある

Then, louder, the words burst from him: 島も…足跡がある

The samurai stood abruptly and stepped closer to the enigmatic little woman.

Women and men on this island what are they? Are they savages? Do they have culture? What the culture on the island? Now that she held information he deemed valuable, he made the effort to speak in the common tongue, hoping thus to draw out more detail—if, that is, she would deign to answer him more clearly.

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He puzzled over her best efforts at answer for a long moment, seated on the sand. Choumi waited patiently, gaze tracing over the curved scars that did little to mar his features. He pinned his tongue between his teeth as he mused over the marks in the sand, and the woman's lip twitched as she quelled an amused smile. It took him a nerve-wracking moment, but the stranger did get to a good-enough approximation of Choumi's meaning. She rewarded him with an encouraging nod and smacked her tail on the sand a couple of times.

He could speak Common, although it wasn't with the fluency that graced his Japanese. Chou's brows arched slightly at the onslaught of questions, a flutter of reactions crossing her expressive features: intrigue, confusion, amusement, disappointment and a hint of frustration as she realized just how many complex questions that was to answer. And just how limited her communication was, no matter how much she nearly burst with what she wanted to say. What on earth did he mean by 'savages' and 'culture'? What was he hoping to find? Where was he from? What had marked his face so distinctly, what was his name, did he know the Fujiwara clan? She would liked to have asked him if he was a good fisher, judging by the iodine on his coat - or maybe a warrior, and if he'd like to spar sometime if he was. But as usual, the butterfly's thoughts were trapped as ever within her own skull, locked behind her teeth.

Choumi was anything but shy, but she tucked her chin to her throat and wilted her ears to her skull in reply. Her brows and muzzle wrinkled with a pensive expression that bordered on outright upset, before she tapped her muzzle with her free paw and shook her head solemnly. I cannot tell you, I am sorry. She paused, considering her options. She could show him - the wolves of the Dynasty could answer his more specific questions, if he could only stand before them to ask.

The petite huntress stood, taking a few delicate steps toward the waves that rolled against the shore lazily. In the distance, the purple flowers beckoned. Her home, and perhaps his - he seemed to be looking for something. Maybe the Dynasty was the answer. Maybe Choumi could offer what the mysterious stranger sought, after all. She flicked the tip of her tail, beckoning. I can show you, though.

Proud of himself, yet far from finished with his trials, for the woman clad in brown seemed to take pleasure in unraveling new riddles before him. A man of little patience, he nonetheless had no choice but to try and play along. Gestures, signs—an entire silent conversation that Shinjou struggled to interpret—only to eventually understand: she could not speak. It wasn’t merely a language barrier; it was a veritable wall of communication.

いったい俺が何をしたっていうんだ、こんなことになって… he muttered, still disillusioned, head bowed. His gaze happened to meet that of the strange woman.

I am going to cross. I can fight. If it’s a trap, I kill! he declared, striving to sound more formidable than he truly was. 向こうの連中がちゃんと喋れればいいけどな The samurai stepped closer to the water, eyes locked on the horizon—on the island. He knew the sea, its fickle moods; he knew it to be treacherous, even deadly.

Where can I swim? Where the water is kind? You help me cross. he said her.

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His muttered dismay earned him a flash of a smile from the huntress, sharp-toothed and a little self-depreciating in the way it sat on her features slightly lopsided. Choumi brushed aside the swell of bitterness within herself with a flick of her ear.

She met his gaze, waiting for his response patiently, before he boldly announced his plan if she was so foolish as to try to lead him into her comrade's waiting fangs. The woman tossed her head back and a soft, breathy laugh chimed from her throat. Her laughter was not mocking, nor that of disbelief - the paranoia was something she'd harbor, too, if their roles were reversed. Still, the idea that she'd go to such lengths to lure a stranger into her pack's maws without even her voice to aid her was indeed humorous.

The huntress whirled to face him, paws dancing across the sand. She shook her head firmly, a mirthful grin still faint on her features. Not a trap! I swear. She lifted her chin and straightened her posture, her tail swaying low by her hocks. You'll be safe with me. Not that she expected him to glean that. He would have to see for himself, or turn tail now.

She didn't think he'd slink off: it'd make him look like he really didn't think he would fare as well as he hoped in the coming battle if it were a trap. The woman stepped along the shore confidently, glancing at the island across the water to find the landmarks she used to determine the right location to cross the most safely, the places where the tides would help ferry her to and from her destination.

The Ite stepped into the foam, glancing over her shoulder once when the water was deep enough for the waves to soak the fur along her chest, before she dove into the water properly. The Rest was waiting for them.

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Hey, sorry for the delay — getting back into the RP little by little! I saw the pack’s been disbanded, could be fun to keep things going on the island and see what’s up, if you’re down! C:

She had taken the lead—or rather, the swim—a child of the currents, attuned to the sea’s caprices, able to read between the waves and discern the safest way. Shinjou had seen it. He had acknowledged it. He too was born of the tides, a child of the shore—but these lands, this sea, were strangers to him.

With measured caution, the samurai in the black hood had followed his guide. It could still be a trap. Until he set foot upon Sakura Island and saw with his own eyes that its people were learned and not deceitful, Shinjou would remain on guard.

What awaited him there? His own kind, he hoped—his people, his heritage.
But he would, in all likelihood, be gravely disappointed…

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no worries! i've also been an a little hiatus. love the idea, let's do it!

She had always lived near the sea - in her world, the ocean had been a fabled black abyss, hungry for any fool who slipped off the cliffsides and into its maw. It was never seen, always smelled on the breeze, even when she'd been living out in the cold and ever-wet swamplands outside the city's reaches.

Here, in this world, she had lived by the sea since meeting the Empress. She'd been a weak swimmer at first, but learned fast. The butterfly cast an encouraging grin over her shoulder at her new companion, bobbing on the waves as she treaded water, until she was sure he was still following without trouble and continued to cross. It was not a difficult swim, if one knew how the currents wound around one another in the strait between the isles and the mainland. Seaspray was savory on her lolling tongue as the woman hauled herself to shore, bounding free of the waves and shaking the excess water off her coat vigorously. She heaved a soft sigh, prancing in place as her mismatched gaze searched the lush drapes of wisteria for signs of her pack.

Though, no one yet greeted her.