Ichiro had long since decided that seawater felt strange on his scales and even worse on his fur. He could just about stand to dip his toes into the water, but any more than that was a sensory overload waiting to happen. Even still, the water was a welcome change from the sweltering heat that had overwhelmed him for the past several days.

The volcano erupted. Ichiro’s not entirely sure how, or why. These things don’t yet make sense to him. He’s heard the mutterings of his seniors, though; whispers that the Deities were angry. That seemed odd, to Ichiro. Both of them? Vayu and Requiem? How had they managed to get both the Gods’ tails in a knot?

He heavily contemplates that question, choosing instead to focus on trying to understand the everything that’s happened over the last few days rather than focusing on how absolutely abhorrent the salty water feels all over him as he washes that nasty, hot, smoky smell off his scales and out of his fur. He’s lucky, he thinks distantly; he could’ve been like old Valerius, dead and cannibalised by one of his friends. Though it doesn’t seem like the worst way to go, per tradition, the thought of dying isn’t all that appealing to Ichiro’s young mind. He hasn’t lived yet. He still has a lot to experience, or so the seniors say.

The silence of the beach is disturbed by his grunting and grumbling as he scrubs his fur down. He’d tried grooming the natural way, but it turns out smoke tastes foul, and he’d quickly abandoned that idea.

Poor old Valerius, he thinks. It must’ve been painful to die like that. Hopefully he’s having a better un-life with Requiem, though. His death sure did seem to appease the Deities. 

Dimly, Ichiro wonders how Ryosuke is doing. Is he okay? Did he make it to safety? Why hasn’t he come back yet? Will Ichiro ever see him again?

He tries not to think about Ryosuke too much. Whenever he does, all he can picture is his kōhai’s skull in Meteor’s satchel, instead of Valerius’s. And that makes him sad.

Visiting the various beaches scattered across the islands wasn't a rare occurrence for Kole, though admittedly even he detested the feeling of sand in his fur. Why, then, had the sanguine hungered coyote chosen to make a tropical island his home? A question he asked himself a lot; particularly after the eruption. Nevertheless, he had, and to even his own surprise he liked it here enough to stick around for longer than he'd ever really intended to do. Whether that was because of the benefits he received from being a 'Descendant' or because of perceived attachments to other members was yet to be seen, of course...

"It can be pretty gross," Kole sympathised as well, as he came to a stop beside Chernabog. The dragoness made him feel small in a way that he was decidedly not used to, and he wondered briefly if this is how he'd made people feel in his old wyvern body, back in the good old days.

Looking between Ichiro and Chernabog, it's not hard to spot why the dragoness would be a little soft with the strange hybrid creature. Even if he were to disregard that they were, in fact, somewhat similar; the runt had a way of softening even the hardest of hearts, it seemed. His own included, though he'd never admit it openly. "Seems you two have it worse than I do, though," he muttered, eyeing their scales with distaste. Even when he'd been inhabiting the body of a wyvern, he'd been made of foliage, not scales. He couldn't imagine how awful such a grainy texture as sand would feel on scales.