It was dark. So dark that he was flying blind. Casted away, bleeding into the ocean below him. He tried to fly low enough not to get zapped out of the sky, but not enough to be swallowed by the sea. It was a hard to fight battle, one he was losing as the blood poured down his paw and into the ocean. Rain pelting his tattered wings, making them heavy and soaked.

The sky roared, the world shook, and one bad turn away from the storm and into the mouth of a massive wave consumed him entirely. Underwater he gasped for air that was entirely and impossibly away from him. One last struggle, the ego in his heart trying to keep him from dying.

Not yet. This can't be how I die.

But the sea only entered his mouth and into his lungs. It felt like the freezing waters only made it even harder to move. He looks up, sees the bright white lightning light up the surface of the stormy ocean into beautiful blues and white rings. His eyes close, despite his fighting, and then there's nothing.

Nothing for a while. Nothing for God knows how long. A part of him wishes it would stay that way.

It was the sound of seagulls that finally woke him up. Squawking and pecking at his frigid body, crumpled like sandy, seaweed covered garbage on the shore. He grumbles, tries to adjust, but only the shocking pain of his body runs through him.

The mass of sea trash groans and moans, trying it's best to come alive again.

Open to more folks coming in! Just shoot me a DM ahead of time so I know what's goin on. Varied reply speed due to school. Bear with me <3 lil rusty

Please also note that the part about flying and having wings is a pre-viv memory.

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Lucy —

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It had rained, and the air was bitter with the chill of the coming winter. It happened quickly, the dropping of the leaves and the first bites of frost. But it always seemed just a bit warmer by the ocean. That, and the soothing crash of the waves was a gentle serenade to a hostile and wandering teenage mind.

Mazikeen dipped into her familiar trail, banking West out of Northfall and toward the sandy shore. Soon, winter would make this walk impossible. The sand would grow too cold, and ice would crust along the edges of the shore.

So she would enjoy it while she could.

The overcast sky cast the entirety of the world in shades of gray — but Mazikeen preferred it this way. It was less stimulating … and provided a far more dreary ambiance. Plus, no one else typically bothered her when the weather was like this. Well, no one but Achlys, and he was never a bother.

Hm.

Something at the edge of the shore caught her attention. A pile of seaweed and sludge that was … moving. Was that … fur that it wore? The edges of her hackles tingled, and the embouchure of her lips cast into an immediate firm line.

She should leave it there.

But her curiosity was far too intense. Far too morbid.

And so she trailed closer, long legs pressing through the freezing, wet sand. It was only upon further inspection that the pile of goo began to take the form of a wolf. But Mazikeen knew that the otherworldly worked in mysterious ways — and her guard remained as raised as her hackles.

Mazikeen’s gaze was unreadable, her head tilting as she gazed toward the sea-creature. It certainly didn’t look like an ocean monster — she’d imagined that Jörmungandr or the Kraken were much larger and far more scary than this.

Her head tilted the other way in silent appraisal.

Maybe it was a cryptid.

---

Footsteps crunched into the sand, causing Lucy to bristle up like a porcupine. His already spikey fur clumped together in tighter locks from the sand and seawater, making him only spikier. He kind've, humorously, looked like a sea urchin if you looked at him from the right angle.

Then it moved, grumbled, and every bone in his body tried its absolute best to come alive and fight again. Yet only his face flopped out, exhausted on the sand. It was normal looking. Striking in color, maybe, but relatively normal. Soft, and gently handsome looking features- marred only by the scowl it produced. He was visually young, though his hateful expressions always aged him.

What the fuck do you think you're doing? The sea urchin boy snarled.

His vision was kind of hazy, likely concussed from slapping against rocks while the ocean tore him apart. Yet he forced a paw under himself anyway. Heaving the whole way up, he sat upright in the worst, crumpled, and clearly not-all-there posture.

Lucy's head swirled, forcing him to wince as he fought off the feeling to throw up.

Lucy —

---

The dried saltwater cracked in the cold air. The beast stirred, fighting against the ocean. Its body rose steadily and slowly, and Mazikeen could not tell whether the motion was calculated or bedraggled with heavy soreness. Mazikeen continued to stare, unwilling to address her own invasiveness, and even more unwilling to blink as she watched a once-dead body begin to stir to life.

And then, like some accursed Jack-in-the-box, a bright gold face appeared against a Stygian backdrop. A face. His face. It was not a cryptid; it was a wolf. Well, if it was a cryptid (or a demon, or a dejected Norse god, or a monster), it had been placed very unfortunately into a very mortal body.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Mazikeen finally allowed herself the grace to blink, ears flicking slightly to the side as the snarl of his voice seared through the crisp air. There was an intensity to it, a heat that seemed to rise from his very core. A fire brewed within him, and perhaps it was that very fire that had kept him alive.

Watching you, she told him, voice empty as she took a small step backward. The male pulled himself upward, unsteady on his paws, and Mazikeen was then able to see all of the intricate markings of his coat. But the witch-girl did not dare touch while the iron steamed. Not many wash up on this shore— she began, her voice as hypnotic as the rhythmic strumming of the waves, —not alive, anyway.

Her tufted ears dared to perk up, a subtle display of her interest.

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