Catch a wolf by the toe

His father had come to visit, brood of new children in tow. Erik was content to avoid them, near ignoring his father’s attempts at closing the distance between them. Talk of ma and Morg moving to the mountain… he couldn’t pretend that the humidity of the winter was doing any favors for his crystals either. The air was thick and hurt his raw throat, and most mornings he woke with a cough that tasted of blood and other minerals. It makes his stomach hurt, his chest hurt, his lungs hurt. That’s fine. The hurting means he’s alive.

Following the track that his father’s raiders left, the viking bastard sniffs his way to Norad. Curious about the near-ghost town that his father had pillaged, and how he could watch them from a distance. Grateful he looks more his mother’s son and smells of the bamboo, Erik doesn’t appear as a threat. Heh.

As he shifts to the Cove, the boy’s orange eyes fix on the sea. Vast as it is, tugging at his chest. A snack before he did his perusing wasn’t a bad choice. Long legs carrying him to the edge of the sea at a ground eating pace, Erik is quick to realize he’s not alone. A girl staring into the pools, eagerly watching for something to come close enough to catch? Maybe.

Though he doesn’t offer a true greeting, Erik offers a ragged grunt. Acknowledgement. A comfortable distance between them, he won’t speak yet. Won’t reveal his difficulties. Taking a moment to track down where the sun was over his shoulder, he adjusts so he doesn’t cast a shadow over a tide pool of his own. Taking a different angle, he watches and waits for a long moment, tense. Muscles coiled. Waiting eagerly. Snacks soon.
"Speech"