By Sea and Sword

((Timestamp: After the session. Dusk?))

The glinting waves ebb and flow. The cool breeze weaves and drafts. The bright seafoam froths and roils. And the weary Garou is still and quiet. Breathing deeply of the ocean's salt air and feeling the last vestiges of the sun's warmth on their fur are each having a suitably calming effect on the recently-frenzied warrior's mental state. Jagd bears only minor injuries from the altercation: a notion that rubs their fur the wrong way. The sight of Adyn's maimed body is still bright as blood in their mind's eye. They should have been faster. Stronger. Thank the stars that Brice's weavings were so quick. There's no knowing what could have happened if he wasn't there.

Seated at the ship's stern, Jagd their hind legs over the ship's edge, suspended over over the rolling ocean. While they are not actively avoiding company, they are also not seeking it out. Given that they have seldom been one of many words, it would be difficult to tell if they were being uncharacteristically quiet or not, but there still seems to be a sense of dark quietude to them. Their sword is once again buckled in the harness between their shoulders, and hangs at an odd angle due to their seated position on the ship's deck. They've removed their breastplate and gorget, and are allowing the ocean wind to toy with the ties around their gambeson's neck. Their tail is listless behind them, though occasionally twitches, along with their good ear, when they occasionally catch a scrap of conversation from the ship's crew. It's difficult to remain dour for too long when one is surrounded by so much light and life.

They sit with a thoughtful expression, looking alternately down at their hands, or out across the ocean to the sandy shore, hoping that Coronus was able to keep Tina from turning the bounty hunter into some sort of Thrall... A shudder unsettles the fur along the ridge of their spine, originating from the base of their neck and terminating at the tip of their tail. They reach back reflexively to touch the scar left by the fel creature that controlled them for Gods Know how long. It was extracted from them by warm, healing hands just long enough ago to not occupy their every thought, but still near enough in recent past to be fresh fodder for nightmares.

They shake their head sharply and turn their attention back outward. rather than venturing further inward. Jagd listens distractedly for the sounds that will indicate the sails being set, feeling a sense of Knowing within them that their hands will be capable of what will be needed of them, should the crew require them. If only their other memories would bear with them some sense of recollection; but, blessedly, these ones are not related solely to destruction.