Two Rivers Isle better get back to the black hole sun

Winter was a harsh mistress. She gripped the land in a frigid hand, dealing damage to all that she touched. No one was safe in the brutal environment that she created. In her heart, a pale ghost sauntered carefully across a vast expanse of white. His breath heaved from his inky lips like steam from a train. Mismatched eyes darted across the landscape, picking at the stray pieces that stood out against the bleak setting. He carried the stench of war on his pelt. He carried the blood of the Cairn in his body, and though he did not look much like his father's son, he was more like Skellige than any of the wolves of the Warsaw islands. Smokestep had returned to reclaim the home his father had built.

Keeping a steady pace, the pale brute soon found his nares flaring at the scent of another. Peering with wild eyes, it was not long before he spotted the one thing that did not quite seem to fit into the scene of stark white. A lone figure moved in their own path. Their pitch coat stood out well enough. Kingfisher watched with a careless expression. His brows were furrowed tightly on his head and he drew a salmon colored tongue along his leathery lips. This one looked as though they were struggling, so perhaps they would be easy to persuade.

The pirate began to work his way toward the stranger, though he managed to keep enough distance that the other should not have noticed him unless he intended to look for pursuers. With a lean swagger, the young Cairn watched and waited to see what this brute had in store for him.