our dead drink the sea

Her attempt at pronouncing his homelands name would have been amusing, if he had a sense of humour. Instead, he merely shrugged, whether she liked it or not this was where she'd landed, what was he supposed to do about it? Toss her back in the sea and bid her good luck on her doggy-paddle back? Maybe, the thought was somewhat tempting. Her tune changed slightly, tossing a question his way he wasn't sure if he felt like gracing. But he supposed he'd gotten this far and it wasn't as if she required anything complex or demanding from him

"Never heard of it." He'd never left these shores, never had much of a desire or reason to really, but he knew there was a whole world out there. That Boreas and Auster were faint specs in the grand scheme of things, wolves from all walks of life ended up here though, for one reason or another. She wasn't the first wolf who'd washed up here half drowned and he didn't imagine she'd be the last.

He shifted again, moving closer, the teal of his eyes scrutinising her. She was taller than him, but that didn't make her special. She would come to learn that wolves larger than most called this place home, where what was considered ordinary here would be extraordinary elsewhere. It was all a matter of perspective, he supposed.

"If you have a tragic sob story keep it to yourself, you're here now and unless you want to start swimming back to wherever you came from, you're just going to have to deal with it."