The Sentinels long dead rows of daffodils and marigolds

@Brig

There was something about the decimation of the forest that had drawn Smokestep to it. Perhaps it was near to where he had found Moorhen; near to where she had abandoned her family name. It brought a fiery anger to his gut that could not be quelled even by the strongest of tides. If Skellige had been there, he would have... he would have... but Smokestep could not find in his mind's eye what his father would have done. Surely, he would have cast Moorhen from their family and request that she seek her own, but hadn't she already done that? The ghost was simply proud, and he carried both his father's and his own pride with him wherever he wandered. Even, back to the home of Deirdre and the Donnelaith wolves.

The fire had caused a great scar to be placed over the forest. The pirate bent his head to sniff, finding that it had not met the touch of a wolf in quite some time. Still, life would find a way; he imagined that buds would have formed during spring and would bring the promise of life with them. It would not be long before the Sentinels would be rife with beauty and brush once more. In the meantime, it was covered in snow and black beneath. The length of his limbs brought him to a saunter and he kept a single ghostly eye trained for the signs of passersby.