he wakes with aching lungs and absence of breath, jaws gaping for greedy mouthfuls of air. pelt slick with seawater and eyes burning with salt, he is able still to distinguish a shape just above him— and a grating, girlish voice to accompany it.

kuvtak waits, silent, for both his eyes and ears to clear of fog. and at long last, she comes into view. a slight thing, trembling from cold and from fear. it is then that something sick within his gut ferments, curls like smoke around his bitter black heart. when he looks up at her, it is with the half-lidded eyes of a fallen gentleman. slowly does he crawl to his feet, regarding her with harmless curiosity. "kuvtak." he corrects softly, yellow eyes readily drinking in the very shape of her. his lip twitches, hungry. had he his strength he might have felled her there, dragged her wailing into the sea with him.

but this, too, is a game he is no stranger to playing.

"and you? your...name?" common does not come easily to him— but what preening woman doesn't love an accent?