- Pronoun
- they or she
Jesse pawed at his chin, his heavy eyes roaming over the beach. Earthy sand, blemished here and there by dark seaweed, strewn about by the tide. It had such a briny, sulfuric smell. Rockpools, unpleasantly damp and rugged underfoot. Scree-skirted hillocks that nearly sent him stumbling downward from a misstep.
At his side, the Lycanroc girl seemed to have no such troubles. A Rock-type would enjoy a beach more than he would, huh. He could hardly think of a worse place to spend recreational time. Fucking hell. His muzzle twitched irritably.
"I can scent the Wayfarers," murmured Leona. "And others, maybe – hard to tell without a closer sniff, This way."
"Alright, kid. Lead the way."
She pressed on with her nose close to the ground, and soon – past a low, grassy rise, and a jetty that pushed out into the sea – found an expanse of warm, golden sand, covered in mingled pawprints. There we go.
"Good find," he acknowledged, quietly. "We couldn't be the first ones here, but... Well. Where th' fuck have they got to...?"
He cast his eyes about, and a flash of energy from the far end of this stretch of shoreline caught his gaze. Two 'mon, fighting? No, sparring. Strong ones, feline...
"I've spotted my daughter, an' her ladyfriend," he added. "Maybe five hundred or so paces that-a-way."
"'Ladyfriend'?" queried Leona, looking sceptical. "Don't think Starr's much of a lady."
"I'm bein' polite, getcher claws off my back," groused Jesse. "C'mon. Let's go say hello."
At his side, the Lycanroc girl seemed to have no such troubles. A Rock-type would enjoy a beach more than he would, huh. He could hardly think of a worse place to spend recreational time. Fucking hell. His muzzle twitched irritably.
"I can scent the Wayfarers," murmured Leona. "And others, maybe – hard to tell without a closer sniff, This way."
"Alright, kid. Lead the way."
She pressed on with her nose close to the ground, and soon – past a low, grassy rise, and a jetty that pushed out into the sea – found an expanse of warm, golden sand, covered in mingled pawprints. There we go.
"Good find," he acknowledged, quietly. "We couldn't be the first ones here, but... Well. Where th' fuck have they got to...?"
He cast his eyes about, and a flash of energy from the far end of this stretch of shoreline caught his gaze. Two 'mon, fighting? No, sparring. Strong ones, feline...
"I've spotted my daughter, an' her ladyfriend," he added. "Maybe five hundred or so paces that-a-way."
"'Ladyfriend'?" queried Leona, looking sceptical. "Don't think Starr's much of a lady."
"I'm bein' polite, getcher claws off my back," groused Jesse. "C'mon. Let's go say hello."