restless tides

Sometimes it felt as though the past was intent on nipping at Hattori's heels. Forcing him to constantly look over his shoulder as he shoved aside the what ifs and whys, forbade himself from ruminating on things he couldn't change. Not any more. And yet it seemed as though yet another ghost had found its way here, not an Iga wolf but one with a bloody history all the same.

As always.

Hattori slowed to a walk, his pale brows furrowing as he took in the sight of the mountain wolf. He did not recognise her as an individual per se, rather it was her rugged form and markings that stood out to him. Set her apart from the run-of-the-mill Nihon wolf that might wash ashore. Even so far from home the scent of rock and ancient mountains still clung to her form, showed in the wideness of her paws and the thickness of her coat. Anyone could tell she wasn't from this part of the world, that she didn't belong and ought to return if she knew what was good for her. To try and repair what had been shattered, to cling onto the pieces lest they skittered off the mountainside. To be forever lost.

And yet here she was, reclining back on the sand. As if she had any right to be here, more of a right than Hattori at least.

"What are you doing here?" Hattori asked none too kindly in their native tongue, accusation infused into his tone like venom dripping from a snakes fangs.