Ghost Lion Crag And the rain

Though he may have grasped the uneasiness that had washed over Wraen, Smokestep was not likely to depart without getting what he was looking for. His eyes remained glued to her frame and he looked over her like a prize waiting to be won. The seafarer's tongue lashed against his lips once more and he felt his stomach stir. Still, she made an effort to put space between them. Kingfisher watched her intently as she did this, testing the limitations that she was setting by moving this way and that to draw himself closer than he had been. For every sideways step that she took, he continued to press forward in a long-legged and casual pace. The ghost did not want her to flee, which would be likely if he continued to attempt to invade her space. Then again, Smokestep loved a chase.

Surprised that she would actually respond to his inquiry, the brute's ears stiffened and pulled forward. She provided some relatively accurate directions for him. At this, Kingfisher's mouth curled in a cheery and mischievous smirk. At least he had gotten something out of her, and though it was small, her directions were followed with a question of her own. It was personal enough that he was surprised that she had allowed herself to ask it, but he was also grateful because she seemed as though her interest had been peaked.

Lifting his tail in a single wave, the marauder nodded his head slowly. “Well thank ye for those fine directions, miss. I shouldn't have trouble finding me way, now,” he offered, sweeping his gaze to the landscape for a brief moment before offering to answer her inquiry. It was simple, really, and so he could only offer her the truth. After all, she did not know of him yet; she did not know of his reputation and she wouldn't for some time. Still, he wanted them to know that the Cairn blood had returned to the wilds. He wanted them all to know that Skellige's brood had drifted back to reign over the bay once more.

“I was born there, lass. I've come to reclaim me home.”