~Some Moons Ago~
The deck creaked as wet footfalls slapped against the planks. Skippers swore and bruisers cursed and the Storm gathered. He could barely make her out up ahead, her own paws scrambling for purchase on the waterlogged wood as she kept low and darted this way and that. She was taking advantage of her size and poise. She was beneath notice. He wasn’t. She’d get clear. He wouldn’t.
There were worse places to be held up by the Maelstrom, but he’d come to Wolf’s Den for one reason and one reason only, and he didn’t have the time to spare for not-so-pleasant pleasantries with officials, let alone these officials.
Greasing palms, coin after coin, had finally paid off. He’d been holed up in Naldiq & Vymelli’s at Moraby Drydocks when the word came. Surprise had been the order of the sun. She wasn’t in Limsa. He remembered wondering why she wasn’t in Limsa. Did she know? How could she? He’d brushed those thoughts aside. Matters were arranged to proceed without him should he prove absent at a vital moment. Not a bell later, he was boarding the ferry.
Wolf’s Den wasn’t a particularly large platform, situated out in the open water and tethered to the rocks as it was. A retired Maelstrom vessel served as a den for games of all sorts; cards, dice, darts, drinks, and brawls were all welcomed here. Much of the space had been set aside, though, as a staging area for combatants to enter the Floating Colosseum in pursuit of fame and riches. What little deck was left, inside or out, went to the ferries.
He hadn’t expected to spot her so soon, or so easily. He’d seen her coloration, and he’d seen the kink in her tail. He’d seen her ears swivel, and her nose sniff, and her eyes widen. Then she turned and ran.
She was making for the Braveheart now.
So he followed, shouldering aside men and women alike, leaving a trail of the disgruntled in his wake as he poured on the speed and broke for the old lass himself.
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
