OOC

Osamu —

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The heat of the day grew stronger, the sun arching up to a climax in the sky and delivering unruly rays of summer heat. Makara had spent much of the morning trailing along the edges of the island, admiring the stretches of beaches and cliffs that each edge of his new home had to offer. From the Northern part of the island, he swore he could make out the hazy, distant shore of the Keep. He swore that blurry brown object on the shore was the shipwreck that he'd once spent these same summer days lazing about in.

His pace would slow, tongue lolling out of his mouth as a series of pants escaped him in rough huffs. But there was a smile on his lips, a distant sadness buried by the fondness of memories that blossomed in his mind's eye.

Maybe, he thought, maybe he would visit sometime.

Perhaps he was ready for a stroll down memory lane.

But 'sometime' was not today.
Today was too hot for travel.

In fact, it was a day for the opposite. Today was a day for swimming.  And Makara would peel his eyes from the hazy, heat-blurred horizon and turn instead toward the twisting edge of the land that cut off suddenly in front of him. The roar of the ocean whirled playfully below, the tides dancing as waves slapped against the island's edge. And Makara would smile, listening to the way the tide breathed and laughed.

It called to him.

Oh yeah, it called to him.

---

There are... calmer waters to swim in, Osamu ventured curiously. Unless this is your preference.

He'd noticed the strange figure at a distance, unable to recognize the steel and slate of his coat as one from their group. It was peculiar that the wolf should linger so close to the edge with such a longing expression, and a small part of him wondered if this was either a depressive episode of some kind or a cry for help.

Either way, he wasn't keen on fishing out the man's broken body after the fact.

Have you come by formal invitation, or did you chance past the scent-markers of our borders? Osamu asked, equally serious with intent as he was to distract the stranger's attention away from making a leap they would both regret. The Fujiwara clan has returned to this place with the intent to claim it.

The waves crashed noisily below, seafoam turning up in their wake and Osamu edged a little bit closer to Makara.

Just in case.

OOC

Osamu —

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Makara’s eyes scanned the water below, assessing it with intuitive expertise. The tide was recently high and rolling out, leaving the waves and the water at a low churn. And the way the water shimmered in those gentle tides of deep, dark azure … he was certain from this height he would land in nothing but water.

It was nothing but a short swim back to the shore after that.

“There are… calmer waters to swim in. Unless this is your preference.”

The soft lull of an unfamiliar voice caused Makara’s head to turn. A chuckle fell from his lips, soft and casual as his pink-hued gaze scanned over what appeared to be a very seasoned warrior. I am not worried, he would assure the other man, accented voice blossoming with a pleasant baritone. A swim is nice on a hot day like this, right? His smile widened.

The monochrome man would edge closer, and Makara would allow the man the space. Perhaps he could have been worried that he was about to be shoved over the ledge, but considering that had been his plan anyway …

"Have you come by formal invitation, or did you chance past the scent-markers of our borders?"

There was intent — it felt serious. Makara grew closer to believing he was about to be tossed violently into the swells below by Fujiwara's star warrior. But the dragon remained calm. Your ... Drottning (Queen) ... ah, Empress? Izumi. She invited me here. Perhaps with the mention of the Queen's name, the warrior would settle. I intend to stay, should Fujiwara have me. I mean no harm. Makara would tilt his head, eyes shifting between the steadfast warrior and lapping waves below.

A moment passed as Osamu was left to pass judgment on the sea-farer. I am called Makara. The dragon would dip his head in greeting.

---

The casual, almost lackadaisical way in which the stranger responded to his query was even more concerning. Not worried? All Osamu could envision was having to carefully take the long, perilous path all the way down toward the rocky sea, hurriedly scraping wolf remains off the side of the cliff-face as he stuttered his way through an explanation for the Empress.

A swim is... nice, yes, he said slowly. But the odds of cracking something vital and important to me against a rock falling from this point are not promising.

He looked like he swam. Something about the smooth, tapered musculature of his shoulders and strong forelimbs spoke of a wolf well-accustomed to water, so maybe this truly was something of a thrill for the man. Strange hobby all the same, though. Osamu did not care for aquatics; his expertise lay solely on the firm, solid earth. The last few times he'd had to swim against fretful currents he nearly drowned.

Too many legs to coordinate.

Makara. An interesting name; a foreign name, much like the strange word he'd used to refer to Izumi's title of Empress. Whatever language that was, he'd never heard it before.

If the Empress bid you stay, then I have no qualms with your presence, Osamu returned stoically, still trying to understand what this Makara wanted to do with the wolves of Fujiwara - with the way he kept eyeballing the sea nearby, was it simply because they were beachfront property?

What is your place of origin? That word you used earlier - it is unknown to me.