Two Rivers Isle spikeroog

The vagabond moved swiftly, covering ground faster than most would expect of a wolf of the water. His cocksure gait was sure to cause the beige brute to feel a twinge of discomfort, but Smokestep did not care. He was a thief and a pirate; the opinion of beasts on the land did not phase him or interest him, even in the slightest. This brute would be no different. The Cairn boy paced forward, not slowing in his steps. His approach was foolish, but Smokestep was as brash as they came.

It was not until the stranger hollered to the ghost to mind his space that the young Cairn found himself amused. Instead, his hocks bent and he picked up his speed, loping now through the blanket of snow. Great plumes rose from his mouth and into the air. “Mind your tongue, lad; or you'll be feeding the fish,” he barked in a guttural tone. The familiar curling smirk had not yet disappeared from his leathery lips.