Stavanger Bay that you steal from me the sorrow that i've earned

his voice was brought to her by the trees as she rest. soon, she and renoir would take their journey as she had promised him. up until now she had been so very busy ensuring all was well within their home, and by morning perhaps she and he would go. renoir was quiet as of late, and she was sure his heart still ached for her father. hers did, too, but less--he had made himself obvious, here, and to those that could see and feel him he was not absent at all. 

the fair white babe emerged from the treeline of her own home and sauntered toward the bay. she paused but a moment before the borders and then realized that she had been called, and knowing what her role would soon come to be deirdre moved with more confidence throughout the bay. as she slid alongside the man she adored, she looked at him for a fleeting moment before the sharp scent of blood invaded her nares. deirdre turned then to look to the wolf who sat nearby to skellige, and was unflinching at the terrible sight before her. what has happened to him? came her muted whisper--though she could imagine, she wanted to be sure. the sight of him was grisly, and his nose had bled--perhaps still was--and she would see to him, all of him, if he would permit it. 

the witch moved toward the afflicted one, her eyes soft and were, but for a moment, full of worry. may i? she requested, wishing to investigate him more thoroughly. i will not hurt you, her essence spoke, and her ears flit anxiously atop her crown.