Skjol had taken to patrolling the borders of Caldan when he wasn't tinkering in the den. Today, however, he stepped beyond them once more, to the dark shores of Stygian. The blackish-grey sands sink with the weight of his form, claws making him sturdy. The faint clink of the shark teeth can be barely heard over the crashing of waves. A storm is brewing out in the sea, the cold winds rushing the shore and creating the backdrop of grey storms clouds inland. It would be one hell of a maelstrom, if he was any judge.

For now, he simply looked for signs that @Sviiaga had made it. The last time he'd arrived they were separated, and it hadn't been until he left that he knew she had been alright. This time, it would seem the strange forces of this land had also soaw to it that he was separated from his muse, the sea.

He roars loudly, an echo out across the beach and waves. Hoping, that perhaps this storm would herald her approach. The first time they had met, had been a long the seafoam. Where they shared lament over the death of a shared friend, the birth of their tangled relationship.

How fitting, that he would find her again upon the sands.

code by daanyan, Art by Rabbit

The sound of thunder rolls in the atmosphere off the coast. Thick storm clouds extend their reach, blocking out the warmth of the sun. Despite the chill the shadows bring, the form lying on the beach does not yet wake. Occasionally, the dark shape twitches, reacting to the stimuli in their subconscious. Memories shift in dark whispers within the dream world.

The dream is filled with dark clouds and the sounds of both crashing waves and splintering wood. Voices belonging to dark shapes shout unintelligible commands to one another all around her in an effort to be heard over the raging maelstorm. Dread washes over them all as the wood floor beneath them begins to gape open, revealing the dark depths of the ocean below. The grounds tilts sharply.

Her eyes fly wildly, making eye contact with another more distinct shape. His eyes are as panicked as hers are, and an expression she can't read lingers on his tusked face. She wants to call for him but cannot remember his name. It dangles out of reach, just beyond recollection. The floor cracks open wider beneath their feet, and they tumble into the darkness below.

It is the moment she can feel her body plunge into the water that finally forces Sviiaga into the waking world. Her head lurches upward off the dark sand, and a sharp hiss leaves her mouth at the sudden onslaught to her senses. The right side of her head throbbed harshly from a previous blow, and the sudden wrenching motion had sent a shooting pain down her neck.

In fact, most of her body hurt, though she cannot place exactly how the injuries occurred. Did the dream signify what had just happened, or was it just forcing her to live through the past? And where was Skjol? His name had come to her immediately upon searching for it. The creature grunts, and her tail lashes irritably from the pain and lack of answers.

For a few long moments, Sviiaga rests with her eyes closed, seeming to wait for the aches to lessen. Her tail continues to betray her frustration and the mounting sense that something is decidedly different. This eventually is what convinces her to open her eyes despite the pain radiating from her temple.

With a squinted look around, she takes in the gathering storm -- perhaps the same one she'd woken from -- and the whitecaps of the waves stretching out from the shore. There was the sight of the black sands of the beach spreading out along either side of her, and then a downward glance wholely distracted her.

It took another leg moment of complete confusion before understanding hit: her legs were different. No longer did her long legs end in hooves. Instead there were these massive.. paws? Her eyes narrow at the now wiggling toes -- toes, never had those before -- and the glint of something more. It took a few minutes of concentration and then relaxing into the new instincts that finally unsheathed her claws.

Silver eyes took them in appreciatively before sheathing them again, looking quickly up and down the coastline. Temptation nags at her to figure out what else had changed with her form, but reason thinks only of finding Skjol. A roar sounds down the far curve of the beach, sending a few stray birds squawking into the air.

Grunts form strangely in this new mouth of hers, and they are altogether different than any her throat had formed yet. It takes her a few moments to adjust to the new vocalization, but she sounds off an answer. The dark female then hauls herself upward, sending sand falling from her body as it sways for a moment on unsteady legs. After finding her footing, the dark shape begins walking down the beach, finding their rhythm in this new world.

code by scorpixia♡︎

There is a certain hope he possessed in not being alone in Amaryllis. So many of his people had been lost in their conquests, that Skjol had prayed for the first time in ages to the drowned god and his lover, wishing to at the very least, keep the sea siren safe. He chuffs out another sound from his throat, raspy and low--wheb ab answer is given back.

Tattered eyes and ears perk up at the sound, his legs carry him faster across the sands as rain starts to pelt in unpredictable melodies along the shore. His gait shifts again, reminding himself that galloping was no longer a need--his body was built different here, better even, though he did miss his unmistakeable height from before.

But the man is still a brute even in this new skin, a force to be reckoned with and now equipped with biological weaponry. The faint clank of the shark teeth around his neck is barely heard over the road of the sea, as he comes up on a strange figure--assuming it was the one who had made the noise.

He swiveled his head (an old habit from an old body), to let his good eye get a better look. No, it couldn't be--could it? Skjol chuffs a greeting from his throat as he approaches, ears forward and eyes smiling, though his jaw remains clamped shut. This woman bore the same resemblence on her patterned fur.

"@Sviiaga?" he asks, though he's damn sure it's her. Not many lions here look like she does. "Thank the drowned one you are alive!" he exclaims with a sort of punctuated cackle.

How many times have they fought death and won? How many times had they made it out of precarious scenarios in tact? He could write a book about their adventures and still have so many more tales to tell. Skjol wanders towards her front, to get a better look at the whole package. Though, he did distinctly miss her fishier aspects, the scent of the sea upon her was unmistakable.

code by daanyan, Art by Rabbit