First, Cait can only make out the eager lapping of the ocean against the rocks. Thirsty claps of sea-water slipping between the crevices; A low tide that tickles against her right foot curiously. Inching the wolf at the sand bed into a sudden,and imposing, consciousness. Tweeting trills of beach and water fowl baying confiding as life dragged on. For a long while Cait just lays there, shocked she is alive. Her eager lungs drawing coughing fits of breath with starving passion, reclaiming life in the heave of her chest. Rattling away only a little of the ocean left behind.

Shakily she surveys the use of her limbs, and finding nothing but deeply sore bones and a sprained paw, drags to her feet with a dogs diligence. A little wild and doe eyed as the surroundings blur into focus. Again Cait sways but catches. Shaking her head and shoulders as pushing onward --she moves fearlessly more inland into Inaria. Away from the smell of salt and boil.

'Where Am I?'

She thinks, and rises her nose to sniff curiously. Snorting ruthlessly until again, Cait hacks away another piece of the unforgiving tide and sand. Drenched and a little chilled, the changeling shivers pathetically onto the edges of the beach. Hesitating only upon an eerie silence. Creeping not from water-side but onward. Or atleast the warning of hackles rising with static seem charged with an imposing negativity. A warning as clear as day in the sudden presence of paw-prints in mud. Cait has the sense to stop in her tracks and perk curved ears forward. Still a little hazy though desperate already to prove her confidence to whoever could be watching.

...Wherever.

But another stagger a few feet and the halfling's drawn to a stark legged standstill. Sheltering a weak paw discreetly against the ground with only a little weight to bear a naturally alert pose. Looking haplessly lost and uneasy. Feeling too, more pitiful than she would ever care to mention. Admittedly, a little nervous about the turn of circumstance.

Funny how the idea of drowning seemed a bit less horrible and more poetic than being torn into shreds by, (searching blue glance reveals more tracks of different sizes), a pack of sharp savage teeth. 

Though, Cait could use a moment to catch her breath if there is to be an ensuing battle ahead. Her leaders had insisted beyond the edge of fringe lay a disturbed uncultured world. Riddled with danger and pain. But Cait had come through much worse things. So she takes her rest selfishly to settle there in the bed of scattered grass and sand until the sound of shifting movement draws her away from licking her injured paw. 

"Quién está ahí? Who's there? Muestra dónde estás!  ....Bonisa wena!"

The introduction to adventure is always a sudden one; And a little over three years old, Cait is old enough by now to have smelled the sweet of political excursions in bloom, and the sour of failed coalitions churning. Though she has always seemed younger. More spirited and gentle-hearted despite the questionable circumstances of her upbringing; A wisdom in the misfortune she'd survived, or the tide she'd swam. Yet still, it's her skepticism carefully disguised as distress that meets the sentry head on. An uncanny knack to untangle the fear curling in her belly -- and set it aside for later until it was more useful in the situation.

"I am a Sentry of the pack you have trespassed in".

Aelous hesitates. Waiting to see if she could understand, and the foreigner catches the notion for what it is. Cait making the choice to instead gather her thoughts. His doubts giving her the assurance she needs to take a moment. The silence that lags in between them noticeable by the blank way she stares - as if lost somewhere in the comprehension. Her foot shuffling beneath, flexing the toe pads of her swollen hock as if to relieve the tension. Caithri speaks his language fluently, though it is not her first. And so just a little she relaxes. 

(Had this been a pack of beast, they wouldnt have wasted their time with greetings or rank values. They would have dragged her in kicking and screaming, although still, it is a possibility.)  She bears advantage in the fabricated language barrier. And though Caithri would never lie, there is no compromise to honor if she omits the truth. Atleast for now, until the both of them were beings beyond threatening faces - full of sharp and untrusting teeth. Cait would see where this took her. And she was rather curious about the world beyond her homeland. Riddled and driven with such stories.

"What's your name?"  The two of them have not been alone, a spectator rising to question with distant but curious eyes. A careful creature who ,Cait has imagined, has nightmares of the cruelty in the world. The dires eyes dance in-between both Haylyn and Aeolus a moment, tilting thoughtfully through effortless charade -- clutching a little bit of information to her breast with an effortless ease more consumed with realization than necessarily conveying her story.

"¿Dónde estoy? No sé lo que sucedió, me caí al agua. Desperté aquí..." For a moment, it feels a little good to ramble. Regarding both of the strangers with a little less rigidness as her thoughts echo back. "Debe haber sido la serpiente marina. Recuerdo sus ojos ... ¿Es esto una prueba?.." Until finally, rapid slang would sift into a more personal tone, a greeting buried somewhere in grey-blue eyes that would meet theirs if they looked. Caithri's head inclining kindly to consider the natives of the strange land she'd washed onto.. 

"Cait."

and then quiet staring, watching, deciding.

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