book 1: arrivals

For a moment, Gilgamesh wondered why there were so many hailstorms lately. He understood living in the south meant milder weather, but hail? The weather changed and moved and became unpredictable, he knew that, but in all his life, this was something he hadn't quite experienced. And while he wanted to stay warm and cozy in the building he now called home, he couldn't. With him, he brought his companions, Urtur and Erish, who he could tell struggled to travel through the onslaught of stormy weather. The whole situation puts him in a particularly bad mood. If he wanted the beach to be an extension of his land, there needed to be more patrols there, but until the pups grew a little larger, he didn't have enough bodies for that. Honestly, he wondered if putting patrols out this far was worth it. Leave it open like the archipelago was where his mind led him as his paws touched down on the all too familiar black sand beach.

Trudging from the water with Erish doing her best to keep to the skies, her sudden call of alarm had him on alert. Both ears perked as his yellow gaze searched the beach. A rumbling snarl from Urtur had him turning to see a duo tangled together with dark liquid spreading out along the sand. One of the two was definitely too small to be agreeing to whatever it was that they were doing. Worried that it could possibly be his own offspring, Gilgamesh rushed forward. His paws reach out as his legs stretch into long, ground-eating strides. He puffs his hackles up, his fangs flipping downward, ears folding against his head. No longer did he care or even notice the hail that pelted his lithe frame. All he saw was a small form about to be torn limb from limb.

A snarl rips from his throat as he lunges at the large shadowy wolf. The stranger looked familiar. Similar to the one that had actually attacked his own pups. This causes fury to rise further until he sees red. Wrapping his forelimbs around the wolf's shoulders, he tears them away from the victim as he drives his fangs into the wolf's scruff. Suddenly, he is on the ground as the wolf flies backward onto their hind legs and slams them both down into the sand. Particles blind them both as they continue to write and rip each other apart. Holding on tightly to the wolf's scruff, Gilgamesh digs his fangs deeper into the attacker's neck. The wolf flails around on the sand, trying to reach Gilgamesh as he continues to tear at fur and skin.

Blood splatters around them, staining both their coats, but he doesn't relent. Even though he felt the cuts opening his skin and the bruises digging into his muscles, he wouldn't stop until the wolf was slain. No one would injure wolves on his land. That was his job. His decision. He was the judge, jury, and executioner, not anyone else.

Finally, he can gain purchase on the wolf's jugular. He wrapped himself around the wolf, pinning them to the ground as he stood over top of them. Lunging forward, Gilgamesh rips into the tender flesh beneath the wolf's jawbone. Warm blood floods his mouth and spills from the corner of his mouth. The wolf below him stares at him, still attempting to snap and swipe at him, but Gilgamesh is too much. Pressing on the wolf's hips with his back paws and shoulders with his forepaws, he forces the wolf to stay still as it slowly bleeds to death. Standing there, watching the creature slip away, the light in their eyes fading slowly, he waits until air no longer forces their lungs in and out.

As the last breath fades from the wolf, he lifts his muzzle to look at the poor soul who had been attacked. The girl lays crumpled on the sand, wet, and bloody, he questions if she's even still alive. Before he approaches the girl, he turns to his companions. Urtur, a bloody mess from helping, and Erish puffed up and quite agitated that she's had to stay in the hail that continues to drill them. "Erish, go back and let Sakana or Rivin know I'm bringing an injured home," he directs the owl who takes to the air without second-guessing his decisions. Turning back to the wolf, Gil presses the wolf's jaw open and swiftly rips out the four canines, depositing each one into a small bag that Urtur wears around his neck. "Help me take her back," he directs the wolverine before turning his attention back to the crumpled mess of a girl.

Stepping off of the dead wolf, he slowly approaches the girl. He retracts his fangs before lowering his bloodied muzzle to her form. Nosing her shoulder gently, his eyes glance over her tiny frame. "Wake up," he rumbles as he nudges her cheek softly before lifting his head. Unlike most, Gilgamesh had little knowledge of any healing, but he at least knew that the bleeding had to stop before they could transport her. "Urtur, go back to the ship and fetch some old cloth. I'm sure we can use that to bandage her for now," he tosses his head toward where the cavern lay nestled along the southern edge of the beach. While he waits for Urtur, he carefully lays himself on the sand and curls around the girl's tiny frame so that she can be somewhat shielded from the elements and kept warm.