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A week since their meeting with the Acha, and Slide has not stopped moving. He has been preparing for something, and he has no idea what: but he has spent most of this day pacing, has made sure their water supplies are stocked, has shooed Pillar (and the tortoise) out of the cave twice, and is only now stopping to eat, chewing thoughtfully. He stands in the mouth of the cave, as he normally does, blocking most of the light from coming in; the smell of the swamp has come drifting in on the breeze, and it makes him shake his head, tossing his hair out of his face. The swamp is not what he wants. In fact, he wants the opposite of that.

Eventually, he will drag his feet back inside and settle down next to Meets; the sun is blindingly bright and burningly hot. It is time to sleep.

Longstride has not been to the borderlands since the flood. He was deep into true kiokote territory, the land of the golden and waving grasses, when the flood swept through. He did not get to see the land as it is naturally; instead he crossed it by leaping from floating log to downed cypress tree to high point of land, pulling kimeti from peril and disappearing into the murk and the rushing waters.

Walks Without Rhythm's cave is somewhat farther out. Where exactly Longstride is he doesn't know; the floodwaters changed the landscape, and though he doesn't fear being lost -- not at all -- he has no way of finding out how far he has come. When he was last here all that was visible were the tops of the straggling cypresses, roiling water, and grey sky.

The shade of the cave will be a welcome sight indeed; the sun beats down like physical blows against his pelt, and even his long tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth doesn't help. He stops for a moment to shake himself, feathers rattling down his back, and a small cloud of dust rises from him. Stopping to lick at his pawpads, and then spitting into the dirt, he lopes into the shade of the cave's entrance: he can smell water, and food, and kimeti inside.

Not an entirely disagreeable place to stop and rest. Having made it out of the swamp in just one day, crossing from ocean to borderlands, he's tired. The ephemeral stag that paces behind him walks with the same weary step. Longstride turns around three times, flattening a section of grasses in the mouth of the cave, drops to the ground, and sets his head on his forepaws.

The tortoise that watches him from within the great dome of its shell seems to be interested; its little eyes glisten stupidly in its face. But it does not bother to rouse itself to investigate further, and Longstride smiles a canine smile at it.

The voice of her mate whispering in her ear brings Meets-the-Sea awake almost instantly, although her body does not move. Being with Slide here in the borderlands has changed the very way she holds herself -- every motion, every muscle twitch is deliberate, planned. Slide's words take only a moment to filter through to Meets' brain and she registers the tone of wariness in his voice. Danger, perhaps -- her muscles tense slowly to readiness in case she needs to move quickly, and her eyes flick open.

There is an eaglehound sleeping in the entryway of the cave. Well, Slide does tend to be overwary at times. And there have been a lot of animals finding their ways into the pair's lives of late -- not all kind. She thinks of the caiman. But surely if the hound were intent on hurting them it would have already done so. Nevermind the fact that it clearly seems exhausted.

Raising an eyebrow and turning her head to Slide, Meets snorts softly. "An Eaglehound," she states, matter-of fact. The time spent with her mate has taught Meets the value of words.

Laughing softly at Slide's gruffness, Meets moves to standing, her silvery-white forelegs stretching out before her. "You worry too much, the doe chastises her mate teasingly, tossing him an affectionate smile over her shoulder before turning to look at the sleeping hound. She goes no nearer to it, not yet at least, her attention focused. "It's just another poor creature who has come to your cave in search of rest." She grins, remembering the time not so long ago when she herself was in that position.

Walks Without Rhythm sleeps with the certainty he displays while awake: the calm confidence that nothing will disturb the cave while he sleeps. This is because he knows that if something were to happen, it would be met and dealt with before conscious thought even came into play. Just like with the caiman: strike first, consequences second.

It means that the night will wheel around over the cave and pale into morning; the sun will come up in clear skies. Before Slide or Meets-the-Sea rise (and without even attracting Pillar's excitable attention), the eaglehound rises, shakes itself, and then seems to fade away like a sunbeam. A moment later a stag, all tawny pelt and sunbleached, tangled mane, the muscles in his legs like whipcord, shakes itself in a similarly canine manner and then looks around, nostrils flared into the wind. It smells like grass out here, not the musty swamp-smell, and Longstride relishes it for a moment: grass is the antithesis of ocean.

It smells, also, like the close quarters of a cave. And, standing with feet planted and nose in the wind, it smells like -- pregnant doe. He casts a glance about the two sleeping forms, grins to himself, and then turns to look for a suitable place for breakfast.

It means that when Meets and Slide awaken, the first thing they will see is four shaggy blonde legs just outside of the cave's entrance, and a long tawny tail swinging lazily behind them. Behind and beside him, a ghostly eaglehound stands with feet planted and tongue lolling familiarly out of its mouth before nosing around in the durt.

Walks Without Rhythm opens one blue-in-blue eye -- the motion is at first lazy, content, but as he gains consciousness, he becomes alert and the look cools. "Another visitor?" The tone of Meets' voice clues him in that this visitor is somewhat different from the chance meeting of the eaglehound. He tosses his dark mane back, stretching -- his hide stretches taut over his ribs and skull. After a moment of this, he stands.

Outside, the stag seems to ignore her. Not even an ear flicks backward at the doe's voice -- he is not the type of visitor to cause alarm, and he's merely passing through. The eaglehound, however, perks up: its ears tilting forward and its tail wagging gently from side to side in a rattle of feathers. The eaglehound, Longstride has found, is a dead giveaway for his innermost feelings. He really is happy to see people, although his admittedly hypermasculine ego prevents him from admitting this as a kimeti.

Longstride, outside, is enjoying the feeling of baking in the sun. It reminds him of being on the beach, where there are no towering mangroves to block the sunlight. When the doe emerges after having a whispered conversation with the buck inside the cave, Longstride turns, and watches her approach. Since living on the beach his hair has bleached to nearly white, and from behind strands of his coarse and sun-bleached mane his eyes stand out strikingly blue, glowing even in the light of high noon. His nostrils flare as she approaches. "I hope I haven't disturbed you," he says, without preamble. Even were he not a swampblessed Legendary he would still speak just as familiarly as ever. "I'm just passing through. I haven't been this way since the flood."

The buck's voice outside is what stirs Slide to action -- the buck lurches up to his feet and shakes himself free of sleep, ears and eyes open towards the mouth of the cave. What could a kimeti be doing out here, where there is nothing to see or do? A particular wariness has settled in him, though he does his best to set it aside. Not trusting Meets-the-Sea is doing the doe a disservice. He clucks and Pillar stirs from sleep and drops off of the ledge he calls his nest, riding on Slide's shoulder. A few steps will bring Slide to the mouth of the cave, to see just who has come calling.