Wipeout?

Things had been tumultuous lately, to say the least. Things in Dread’s head were… not so good. Very, very not so good. He’s been more anxious, more prone to acting out. Something has shifted and changed. Is it something within him, or something outside? Was it something he could control, or something that was going to slip through his fingers… just like everything else. Why did he feel like this? Like a deep sense of foreboding had spread through him. Was it the anxiety? Was it back and worse than before? Or was it something else. Dread didn’t want to live up to his name, not like this. Certainly not like this.

Fuck, how long had he been walking? He’d been trying to get back to the Armada, but he should have noticed a chill in the air by now. He should have noticed a chill in the air, a stiff breeze taking over. It should have been enough to grip him and rattle his bones. Instead, he’s drawn to something strange on the shore. Something strange off on the far distance… was that shimmering? How had he screwed up this badly, how had he been led this far astray?

It’s the strange lights in the sky, they’d tricked him. The way they seemed to flicker and change, they’d betrayed him. Something Dread thought was the sunset, something else that he’d been led to believe was the north star. They had pulled off some sort of nasty trick, and instead of going north east, Dread had been pulled to the south west. The opposite direction from the one he needed to go. Then again, there’s been some other strange things going on, too. The last time he’d passed through the shimmering shore, the tide had been out… but this was something else entirely. It’s too far out. A bit of dread spread over the boy’s system. Maybe it wasn’t anxiety, maybe it was intuition.

Down the beach, Dread catches some movement. It’s another wolf, and he could only hope it was someone friendly. A wary eye on the seat before him, he begins to make his way down the sand. It’s drier than it should be, as if the tide had been pulled this far out for a bit. He doesn’t like the way it shifts beneath his feet, and Dread is unable to tell if it’s the sand or something far below. Something far beneath. Another prickle in his system, realizing more and more that there’s something wrong out here.

As the figure comes into focus, the boy is relieved. It’s Haydée, from Ethne. A friendly face in the midst of… whatever this was. He offers a soft woof to alert her that he’s coming to greet, expression somewhere between friendly and nervous. “What do you make of it?” The words were spoken with some weight. Dread has picked up that something was off, but exactly what? That, he hasn’t quite figured out yet. He’s not sure he likes it, whatever it happens to be.

"Dread Fatalis"