Stavanger Bay blackwood farm

Had Atoll known the dark thoughts her Leviathan was beginning to feel toward the girl she thought might be his beloved, she might've either quailed right then and there, or else jumped up in defense of the pale and absent beauty, begging him to understand and forgive her for all their sakes, damn it! Didn't he see what was at stake?

As it was, she merely felt disappointment that the custom had been spoken so cleanly and clearly; there was no way to twist it around, lead Rowan to misinterpretation. Doubtlessly, she would depart with her garden, and Atoll would have to devise some other means by which to fill their home with the yaps of young pups.

Not an altogether unpleasant notion, at that.

"We live a blessed life here," she offered, softening her eyes toward the woman. "The strength of any child raised among us is nearly assured, and the sea will take only what she feels is necessary. If we serve her faithfully, and do not quail, perhaps she will not feel the need to pull the young to her teat. But either way, we are blessed."

To Atoll, it was no different than all the other things that often took the lives of pups, and perhaps a step up from the futileness of death. It would be better to cast a child into the Heart of the Sea than to wake up and find them the mangled leftovers of a lucky predator's meal.