Stavanger Bay hope that you'll stay

[table width=65%][tr][td]

Szymon arrived on the scene as promptly as he dared; the call had been for himself, Skellige, and Doe, but the black-banded Cairn had been preoccupied with securing one of the caches that had flooded. After recovering the ritual items and food that had been nearly swept away, he moved at a swift clip toward Murgash’s cry — and his pace quickened at the sound of Doe’s name-sound for him. He arrived with a furrow of his brow that bespoke confusion, but he would not ask where Murgash had gone; he wasn’t altogether thrilled with how enamored the mangy wolf seemed to be with Doe, after all. Instead he turned to Rouge, a wolf he now possessed a measure of trust for, for she had done his bidding with alacrity. “Scout,” he said cordially, his muzzle pressing lovingly against Doe’s as he offered her a sloppy, enthusiastic lick alongside the underside of her chin. “What news do you have for our Leviathan?”

[/td][/tr][/table]