Stavanger Bay blackwood farm

The scent that had reached him was one that was familiar and so he had turned to it with every intention of intercepting it. The wraith had made his claim on the bay, and he had been certain that there would be wolves from the neighboring pack who would have sought answers on his borders. He had remained near the edges of the pack in hopes of coming across them before arguments were had with his pack members. When the female had found herself on the edges of Blackrock, she had done so with tact and had waited far enough that she did not appear to be trespassing.
 
Once the leviathan caught sight of her form, he thought it might have been Deirdre and he felt his heart skip like a hammer in his chest for the briefest of moments. When rationality took hold, he realized that it was not the young witch of the wood, but another… one who was older and who bore the weight of a heavy soul. The moon overhead appeared to play with the tufts of fur along her neck and shoulders, causing the pallid woman to appear ethereal. If she had not carried the scent of the forest on her pelt, Skellige would have thought it to have been his sister; the inky brute still expected Ksenia’s arrival on his borders, but he was not certain when.
 
Lifting his crown upward and peering at the stranger with narrowed brows and burning russet eyes, the sea king flagged his tail once. “Looking for something?” his baritone struck the night air with a rumble that began from within his chest and exited his mouth with a surprising amount of force. There was an inquisitive breath to his words, but it was clear that he was fiercely protective of the land he walked on.