The Sentinels what if the storm ends, and i don't see you

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Skellige’s absence was perhaps most keenly felt by his youngest brother, who depended on the shark-blessed Leviathan for direction. Several times a day, Szymon cast himself into the unforgiving winter Sea to beseech Her for guidance. Fearing the eldest Cairn’s wrath, the beta dared not leave the territory to search, but the staler the salt king’s scent grew, the more restless Szymon grew. The abrupt crack of thunder and flash of lightning drew his attention toward shore, cutting his swim short — but as he looked up, the gathering of clouds appeared to form a face. It was one he did not recognize, but in looking at it he espied two things: Deirdre, leaping from the forest cliff, her unmistakably alluring form cast in a halo of virulent flame; and the following silhouette of the brawny, chocolate-furred guardian, lit through with whiskey fire. Szymon had forgotten the male’s name, but as the sylph disappeared abruptly from view, his heart thudded violently in his chest and all attempts to recollect the bright-eyed wolf’s name fell to the wayside.

Swimming hard, “DEIRDRE!” he bellowed, and his jealous goddess roiled at the name of the other woman that passed his lips while he traversed through Her kingdom. She shoved him below surface, a particularly hungry wave catching him in a violent undertow. He rode it as he was meant to and resurfaced some distance later, but when he tried to seek again the sight of the witch queen, lightning shattered the sky, temporarily blinding him. Following the push of the waves, he struck out toward shore as his vision cleared.

The moment his paws touched down, he was sprinting, broad chest rearing out up out of the shallows as he ran toward Donnelaith. The forest was ablaze. Desperately he threw back his head and cast his call upon the wind, seeking his mate. It was an unfortunate truth that wherever danger lurked, Doe could be found snarling in its face. It was sheer luck that he found her beside Muses — the wolf Szymon automatically assumed was his “second wife” — and although he hadn’t taken the time to get close to the pale-eyed, pallid creature, he was prepared to accept her just the same. There were just so many cubs — he wasn’t comfortable around them, especially given how little they were and how…well, how Skellige’s they were. “Doe,” he murmured, frowning in concern at her singed fur. “I love you,” he reminded her, turning to Muses in the next moment. “Muses,” he said by way of greeting, tasting the foreign syllables and finding them not altogether distasteful. “What would you have me do?” The shock and urgency, it seemed, had shaken the stutter right out of him.

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