Lupus form. I wasn't sure if she
was currently below-deck so I made it vague.
Levent hated the ocean.
He hated the way the boat pitched and rolled in the waves, the changing speed as the currents and wind aided and hindered them, the constant smell of water and fish and sea birds, the unchanging horizon once you were in the middle of all of it. He hated it, and more to the point, he was terrified of it.
The wolf was in constant fear of being blown over the side, or otherwise getting completely swallowed up in the sea. He spent the first hour staring forlornly at the disappearing lands of Cercatori d’Arte before reality set in, and the next hour was spent huddling in a little ball below decks, beside himself with terror. He’d shifted into his lupus form for primal comfort, his face buried in his dark-tipped tail, shudders passing through his body as he made himself as invisible and small as he could. Only the constant stream of reassurances mewed in his ear kept him from having a full-blown screaming panic attack, and even then it was a long time before he showed signs of life again.
The man forced himself to move after a while, lifting his head and blinking slowly as he took in the darkness of the ship. Animals fidgeted in the shadows: the horses and sheep and other creatures that were to be traded off to the northern packs. Some had succumbed to the same quiet panic that he did, and so he moved slowly among them, offering hushed sounds to calm them, anything to stay sane.
Even that did not last long. The floor beneath him heaved upward suddenly before dropping, and Levent tucked down into his ball again. A rough tongue rasped against scruff, and he grimaced as he tried to relax his toes, which were digging his claws into the wood. His chest heaved like a bellows as he tried to bring himself back, his pale eyes searching for a distraction besides the uncomfortable animals. Maybe a pack member—although he was ashamed to let any of them see him like this, especially the more savvy sailors. He didn’t mind others thinking he was a ditzy fool—but this time he wasn’t just acting the part.
He set his jaw, gave his head a violent shake, and looked at Wilson, who reluctantly halted his ministrations. “Did you just call me baby?” the wolf asked, and Wilson grinned, dropping his ears.
Levent pushed himself onto all four trembling legs and began the unsteady walk across the wood. He marched grimly, like a man walking toward his own execution, but luckily the trip was not as far as he thought—and the water remained placid during this stretch, enabling him to almost pretend he was still on land. And there wasn’t anything left in his stomach to heave up.
His eyes caught sight of a dark luperci, and he remembered the girl from the day before the voyage. He opened his mouth to call other, but the boat decided to pitch sideways again, and he fell back on splayed haunches, yelping.
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