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Tag for reference

For brief time, Setka departed from Myrrh to explore more of this strange land. The man could not find a reasonable explanation for his arrival to this world. The hot plains stretched for leagues. The ocean lingered close, salt stained the air. From the closest shore, Setka could see more land masses blocking the horizon. Towering cliffs that took great effort to climb.

He needn't be so bold for this endeavor, but a higher vantage would benefit him.

The cliffs held aloft great plateaus. From their ridges Setka could see far beyond himself. Except of course for the hidden drop that the three legged man could not see.

Sent tumbling down a slope, Sekta is fortunate that he does not plummet straight to the bottom. On a ledge halfway down from the plateau, the man hisses through his teeth. He was sure to have small scrapes from this mishap. At least he didn't break one of his legs.

Cautiously leaning over the rim, Setka could spy dark sands below and rocky shores. Well, perhaps he could find some sea treasures on the shore. Rare things grew in saltwater, after all.

He just had to make his way carefully down.

Skill — Healer ( 1 / 5 )

It is with great care that Setka lowered himself to the beach. Once all three paws touched stable ground, Setka released the breath that he held onto. The man glanced back up the treacherous cliff, pondering only for a moment how he might climb back up. That is a bridge he would cross once he got to it, but it would be prudent of him not to wear himself out beachcombing.

Ruby eyes scanned the rocky beach. Dark sand molded beneath his feet as he approached the shore, taking care not to walk into the clutches of the water. Setka, well aware of his limitations, trusted not the cruel and powerful grip of the ocean. He is by no means well versed in the nature of the tides, but he knows that those lapping waves both give and take.

Hiking across the bluffs and peering into tidepools, Setka finds plenty of sea creatures, stranded until high tide. His mouth watered as he considered sampling the bounty until the movement of birds captured his eye. Ears pricked upward and the coywolf slowly made his way to the birds. Perhaps they would show him an unseen treasure.

The birds startled at the coywolf's approach. Setka could not blame the creatures for their nature, even if it did draw a disappointed sigh from his chest. Still, even if the birds had abandoned their place, it did not mean there was nothing of interesting. His nose lowered, Setka began investigate the rocks the bird gathered by.

He could only gasp at what he found.

A boy! A little boy!

The pup had closed eyes and a coat sodden from the sea spray. Setka drew close to the child, his heart pounding in his ears. A gentle nose probes the pup, stiffening at the tiniest rise and fall of its chest.

What are you doing here? Setka whispered as he bent over to pluck the pup from its stony crib. The boy was featherlight and cold within his jaws. Turning away from the water, Setka made towards the stones furthest inland. The child needed someplace warm and dry. Finding a broad stone that was not touched by the water, Setka hauled the both of them upwards, grunting with the effort.

Atop the stone he would put the boy to rest at his side, his tongue drawn in long strokes to try warm the babe.

Skill — Healer ( 2 / 5 )

The boy's voice rattled out of his tiny body. Setka does not understand the words the child babbles, but readily assumes the boy is asking after his kin. He cannot answer the child as he carries it, but that fragile voice indicated the boy still clung to life.

Setka cannot say for how long that life will last.

Further away from the shoreline, Setka can discern the milk scent on the boy. So subtle amongst the stench of salt. There is a furrow to his brow as the pup paddles fruitlessly at his belly. He does not dissuade the boy, not yet. Setka could withstand the discomfort if it meant the pup was moving his own body. In turn, keeping himself warm.

Setka does not keep track of the time, his eyes fixed solely on the life stirring within the boy. Of the drying of that damp coat of pup fuzz. This age was an ambiguous period for children. Their health so delicate, they also had limited individuality. Their coats typically a muddy, darker variant of their adult colors. Even still, Setka could distinguish the boy as a full-blooded wolf pup. From the set of his ears, to the roundness of his chin.

A cold sea breeze stirred at his back, bringing the man to shiver himself. Glancing over his shoulder, Setka found that the blue ocean water had turned into a choppy gray color. Once playful waves now began to lash at the rocks. A gray hue hovered over the horizon.

The lines at his brow deepened.

Rain.

Setka nudged the boy off his belly and shifted so the child was tucked at his chest. With the pup nestled there between a bony leg and an amputated stub, ruby eyes scoured the cliff faces. It was always easier to come down than to go back up. Gravity assured it. But if the rain didn't snuff out the boy's fragile embers from sheer cold, it could very well keep them trapped down by the cove.

The coywolf could feel the rise of dread. It was a familiar feeling that left him cold and sluggish. Yet the race of his heart reminded him of the urgency the situation called for. Even if it looked bleaker by the second.

Setka had left his fawnskin with Myyrh. An indication to the woman that he had the intention to return. It would have been useful in this moment. He could of wrapped the boy while he tested a route upwards. He would have to plan the best he could with his eyes, and test the route on the fly.

His eyes lingered on the ledge halfway up the cliff face. He could climb his way down, so he must be able to climb his way up. He could set the pup on the ledge as he figured out their ascent.

Setka dipped his head down, his nose brushing the top of the boy's skull.

I'm going to need you to be very still for me. He did his best to keep his sentences simple. Was the boy even being raised by the common tongue? We cannot stay here.

Setka's eyes remained on the boy, hoping to see that little mouth respond. If only to see if the boy's milk teeth were even erupting.

Skill — Healer ( 3 / 5 )

One of Setka's worries is alleviated by the child. The boy begs from him. The miniscule muzzle probed at his chin and lip. The boy's snuffling causes an involuntary turn of Setka's stomach. Unfortunately for the pup, Setka only has bile to offer; his own stomach was empty. Setka swallowed the bitter fluid, a sigh hiking his shoulders.

The boy had started weaning. If only in the earliest stages, for he still dove for milk. Setka did not wish to force a complete transition of the child's diet, but if needs must he would have to be cruel. Setka could not provide the boy milk, and even if he could somehow to convince Myyrh to consume Goat's Rue, could he even trust milk from the strange girl? She knowingly sampled poison. Nor would it be worth it to trick the girl's body to produce if the boy could be fed on finely minced meat.

Fed is best. It was what Imhotep taught him. But the boy would have to wait a little while longer. Setka would not brave the tidepools, for the marooned sea-life within were now harshly excavated by angered waves. Many a land creature would be sheltering in place. And he ultimately could not leave the boy unattended.

Begging had exhausted the pup. Setka looked guiltily down at those baleful eyes. Blue with youth, the boy could do nothing but ask for help. The pup could not even chew his own food at this point. How did a boy so dependent for care end up here, alone on the shore?

Beyond his racing thoughts, Setka can hear the boy speak. "Oba?"

Setka, was all the man answered in reply.

Setka was not this boy's oba, but a part of him considered it may be easier for the boy to say. Some children had problems with their "S" sounds. If that proved the case with this boy, Setka still could not take the place of the boy's family. Even if he tried, Setka was not all wolf. None would believe him if he claimed the child as his own.

The sound of rain drops upon stone began to drone. Rising, Setka knew that it was time to move. He lowered his head to the pup, his jaws wrapping around the boy's midriff. Setka could not trust the boy's scruff during this climb. It was too small of a tether to bind them.

Lifting the boy into the air, Setka approached the cliff base. His ears flattened against the wind and rain, eyes narrowing as he lifted his gaze upwards. He had to make it half way, then they could have a break on the broad ledge overhead. Setka had fallen to that ledge after rolling down a slope, so there must be a hidden crag that led to the plateau. He would have to find it.

After pacing at the base long enough to shake out his nerves, Setka shifted his weight to his rear limbs. Pushing upwards, he placed his forepaw onto the first foothold of many.

Precious cargo trembles between his jaws. It is with great care that Setka carries him, but the boy cooperates by remaining placid. The coywolf's neck strains with the effort to keep his head upright, to keep the boy above him. Setka cannot look down or behind himself. He cannot crawl along the stone, lest he drag the child against jagged rocks. The rain weeps into crimson eyes, leaving the man to blink fiercely through the haze.

Setka's climb is at a snail's pace. To rush was to risk loosing what grip he had on the stone. Slipping would be catastrophic at this height. He used his rear legs for the hardest work, pushing himself up the stone cliff while his forepaw clawed at ledges and footholds to keep them teetering into open air.

It is an exhausting affair.

To reach the halfway mark was greater feat than the coywolf had imagined. He hauls the boy over the rim first, followed by his front half. When he lifts a rear leg to bring the rest of him onto the ledge, the paw he balanced on slipped. Setka's heart found a new home in his throat as he scrambled to drag that stray leg forward. His nails strained against the slick rock, and Setka loosens his grip on the boy. Allowing the pup to spill out from his jaws onto the stone. Getting a rear paw over the rim, he flopped forward onto his chest.

Setka had himself drenched in rainwater that pooled upon the stone. Finding his feet, the man scooted forward towards the boy.

Oh, I'm so sorry. Setka finds his words tumbling past his lips as he scoops the boy out of the puddle. Pressing up to the stone wall, Setka turned his back to the air and lowered his head down to keep the boy out of the cold wind. He couldn't leave the boy on the ledge like he initially planned; one surge of water would wash the child away. Setka did what he could to balance the boy on his forearm, trying to warm the boy, if only for the moment. They would need to climb again soon.