I SEE THE BRIG [...] open, washed ashore

[rochelle]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; text-align: justify; width: 550px; padding-bottom: 17px; overflow: stretch; border-bottom: 2px dashed;"]The wolf always found it easy to come wandering by the wall. It was constantly busy with the traffic of strangers and joiners. Sometimes, not a soul could be seen, leaving Rochelle the slightest disappointed. Other times, however, the ones you found on the sand bar were the absolute opposite of disheartening. She came strolling down through the archway, her limp still a faded blemish on her gait.

It wasn't hard to miss Solveig and the shadowy figure sprawled on the sand. Her stomach lurched at the sight, fearing it to be someone injured, as she'd been when she joined. Or worse, she thought, pace quickening to pad up beside the telepathic girl. Her amber vision was fixed on the washed up creature. "Oh ..." She gasped, eyes softening as she turned her head momentarily from the stranger. How peculiar ... Rochelle was not so much shocked at the mutated Vandal, but rather her poor condition. Still, she was curious to know ... was she in pain? The weight of her wings, the obscurity of her limbs. It had to be some calling of nature ... not a blessing or a curse, but an abnormality. Nothing was right about this situation, she concluded, and she needed to make her peace with that.

"They're breathing fine but ... gosh, they're soaking wet." Rochelle murmured observantly, looking towards Solveig. How had she not drowned? The wolf craned her neck so that she could get closer to the unconscious creature, brow furrowing in concern.