Stavanger Bay blackwood farm

The inky titan drew his lengthy ears forward as the woman spoke respectfully to him, though the silver of her gaze did flash to his face once, he allowed her the curious glance. The sea had drawn her to his borders, but he still found himself confused; did she not belong to the wild wood of Donnelaith. For the scent of the forest druids still clung heavily to her pelt and he anticipated that it had not been long that she walked among the tree trunks.
 
Approaching steps caused his head to sharply turn and his gaze flickered across Doe for a moment – his dutiful Atoll. The pale witch had turned to greet the witch doctor with a polite tone and Skellige flicked his eyes back to the newly introduced Rowan without speaking a word to his beta. Knowing that she was there was enough – the flighty creature had done well to tend to the borders, and had the sea not chosen her, he would have assigned her as a reefer to guard over the land for intruders. It had seemed that no matter who had come to their borders, the Atoll had been quick to greet them. She was the buffer for his lack of social capabilities.
 
“Rowan, you smell of Donnelaith… were you simply stepping away from your home?” the titan then inquired of the pale woman. She had spoken that she did not know of the bay’s claim, but he was not interested in excuses. The leviathan was interested in the idea that she had been lured to the sea. Perhaps the waters spoke to her as well.