Benji had no intention to stay long. Truth be told, she never stayed anywhere long at all, the Howff weren't special enough so as to garner that in particular but unlike at previous rendezvous spots, she certainly wasn't hurrying elsewhere. Whether it be the head injury that'd finally started to scab, or the gradual realization that something was very, very wrong with the lands she woke within, staying put was the smartest thing she could do. Or... staying relatively put.

She understood there to be a beach nearby and wherever there was a beach, Benji knew she could catch herself a fair enough meal.

Yet she hadn't made it very far at all when her nose twitched toward the demanding revelation that someone was close.

Too close.

Benji drew to a stop, heavy paws thump, thumping against the dirt. "I can smell you," she said. "So I hope you weren't trying to sneak up on me."

Citalá tracks the stranger, hiding away. In the shadows and bush she follows with precision, dark coat covered beneath leaf-brush and shadows.

Curiosity is the driving force. The Howff is her pack now. Yet she is tied to Maggie more than any other clanmate. It is with her that she would spend her days aimlessly with, drunk with pleasure even though she fears one day the pale lady will tire of her.

The raven woman pauses in her tracks as the tall wolf calls her out and narrows her brow. Slinking out, Citalá walks tall and clicks her tongue against pearl teeth.

“You- are not Howff,” she declares, tail twitching, oil slick paws making circles around the russet newcomer. There is hidden desire to make her common tongue perfect, to hide frustrations.

Her ears, wide and tall to the point of being bat-like in nature, fanned out awkwardly to the sides of her head as the stranger clicked at her. Was that a beckoning closer or was it an expression of disapproval? Uncertain of either, she simply stared, squaring her frame with a grunt. Benji caught and hung onto the accented tongue that those words dripped from, stressed in a manner that implied emphasis on the entirety of the statement where it wasn't quite needed.

"No I'm not," she said, "But your, uh, Captain allowed me board here. I intend to compensate but if you've come to collect, I've nothing on me at the moment." Benji's head remained on a swivel, dark eyes tracking a darker frame. Her tail lashed once. A mixture of agitation and uncertainty. She was no deer to corral. In a ballsy gesture, she stepped forward, cutting off the stranger's stride and leveraging her greater size to do so. It wasn't particularly fair but baring her teeth at a resident wasn't smart either.

Benji said to her then, "Your turn. You're Howf... but who are you?"

Citalá’s ego is boosted at the sight of the stranger’s tail switching to and fro. She has enjoyed it in Taloka and Maggie; the idea that she has enough power to distress others.

Then, the tall wolf steps forward and Citalá halts in her tracks, brow and white star crinkling. The fur along her nape rises and her nostrils flare and she is once again reminded she is not the only one who bears teeth. Heartbeat quickens and she breathes deep, offering a quick glimpse of a grin.

“I am Citalá. Not here to collect. Only watch you.”

The witch has not yet made herself too friendly with the others of Howff. Either burdened with children or heavy, thick accent, she finds herself struggling to keep up. At least this wolf spoke common with a clear tongue.

It didn't delight Benji to coax the stranger back into her place, but she hadn't a qualm doing it. Better she do it than someone less particular about what their teeth sink into. Despite the taut smile she was given, she merely blinked. Neither unamused or frustrated, only impatient. An ear flicked out, the other twitched.

"My name's Benji," she said, and then mumbled, "I'm not interesting, Citalá. I'm not up to anything that your Howff aren't already," before deciding to release the pressure between them by taking a wide step off to the side. "You'll be bored." As if that was enough. Benji nodded, turned on a heel and made way to leave. Except...

...she stopped, turned around. Citalá hadn't left.

"I'm going to fish," she told her. "You don't want to watch me fish, that I am sure of."

The frustration of Benji holds the corners of her mouth upright and puts a gleam in her eye. She flicks her dark tail and tongue darts out over her oil slick nose. Listens to the protests of Benji describing herself as uninteresting but Citalá would rather involve herself in the mundane than listen to children squabble, and the pack arguing or fucking all day.

“I fish too,” she calls back, chin tipped upwards and assurance on her face. “I catch many, no? Will you?”

The challenge is left in the air and Citalá rallies herself, springing forward past the agouti stranger.  She brushes shoulders and hooks the tip of her tail around Benji’s forearm.

“Ben-ji.” The name rolls off her tongue as she tastes it for good measure. “Cisin take you here?”

This wasn't a stand off no matter how it felt. To know another's place, one must know their own, and Benji knew hers well. She could try and try to shake the stranger but when all was said and done, the territory was Citalá's. Whether she liked it or not, she wasn't idiotic enough to keep letting it ride when she should fold. Another slow blink, brows creased as she wrinkled her muzzle just to let out a breath.

Before she could answer, Citalá approached on daring paws, earning the utmost of attention from Benji who tracked her premature triumph forward. The lingering sensation where the other's tail curled left Benji's skin feeling a little prickly. In response, she shook her fur out. "You've not caught many yet," she stated flatly, not cruelly, though. If anything was evident, it was that she did very little emotionally. "When I catch many, however, I'll share with you."

The loose makings of a joke. Somewhat. Dry.

The loose makings of an attempt.

Benji's tail wagged once. Blink and you'll miss it. Her name sounded pleasant on such an unfamiliar tongue.

"I suppose so," she agreed, stepping forward with a loose nod to gesture Citalá onward. Once at the lead, she followed. "By the way it smells, I presumed the waters were nearby. How correct was I?"

Benji’s guarded responses pulls intrigue from her, enjoying her stiff expression and frame. It seems to have loosened her stress as she points out Citalá’s current lack of fish. A brow raises as Benji promises to share, and a competitive streak rises within her.

“Mm. Maybe you ask for my catch,” she teases, tail trailing behind her quick gait like tail feathers off bird in flight. “Your paws- may scare fish in water, yes.”

Citalá, which of the sea, has nothing to fear from the waters.

“Follow,” she beckons, eyes alight with a glimmer. Not too far stood the shores, a beach she had woken upon after Cisin spirited her away, landing in her a world so foreign. She would not dwell on it, and urged her thoughts elsewhere.

“You come from pack? Tribe, clan?”

Benji maintained a steady pace behind the other, though not once did she truly lag. "Maybe," she rumbled, then, "My paws but not yours? All the more impressive when I catch the most."

She gave a soft grunt instead of another word, strode closer. Benji tilted her head back, nose twitching at the scent of fresh water. Good. Finally something she was familiar with.

A stretch of quiet allowed her to fall into a comfortable trot.

"No," she flicked an ear, slowly shifting to match Citalá's step until they were almost traveling side-by-side. "Nothing of note." Which isn't quite true since it's a lie. Benji never had a pack in the traditional sense. For most of her life she wandered at her brother's side until he decided he couldn't miss an opportunity for an ocean-side burial. Benji had debt, though, and debt brought jobs, and jobs were given by any asinine wolf with a superiority complex or control issues. What she did meant nothing. She belonged to nothing.

That was fine.

"And you, Citalá? You sound far from home," Benji stated bluntly, then continued before she could be questioned, "You mention a Cisin." As she said it, she made careful, deliberate work of shaping her mouth around the word just as she'd heard Citalá utter it. "Most speak of their Gods in simpler terms, few name them aloud. Of the few I do know, Cisin is not one of them."

Citalá throws a look back over her shoulder, dark eyelids narrowed in mock disapproval. Secretly enthused and amused, it had been some time since anyone had gone back and forth with her. When Benji trots closer, strides now a match, the siren does not push herself away. Her dark and narrow shoulder ever so gently brushes against her forearm, and tsks at her new friend.

“That is not bad.” Mulling in her head over words, tongue runs against the back of her canines. The life she lived was always one of devotion. Adherence to a sun god she cared not for, and she held herself a secret church for a lying man who told her she could have it all, at a price. Maybe if she had been a simple folk, she could have found worship in simplicity than try to gain acceptance into a world that could never accept her, that instead spit her out into a foreign land.

“Was… this is not my land,” she admits. “Cisin say he will make me Queen. When ah-k’in (sun priest) kill me, drown me, I wake up here.” Though she hides it will, the sorrow, the frustration, it leaks into her tone as her voice heightens. “I meant to be with Cisin, in grave, but it is not true.”

She will never forgive him for what he has done to her, and what his sweet words made her do.