The Sentinels recurve

permission to forward date this to like the 2nd or 3rd

The seafarer could not have been more at home. Though he had been young when he had been pulled from the bay and the neighboring woodland, Smokestep almost knew the terrain in a spiritual manner. He could feel the crashing of the waves through the trunks of the trees. Though the sentinels were not his home, he knew that he was drawing closer, and so his pace increased.

Sandpiper would not be far behind him. The pale marauder did not worry about his sister; she was capable of handling anything that came her way. Their goal was the same: return home and reclaim the depths. Almost as though the woodland was listening to the thrum of his heart, a faint voice drifted through the length of the pirate's ears and he paused in his trek. The direction could not be discerned. The wind had carried the sound of the woman through a tangle of bark and wood before reaching Kingfisher. He did not hear the name that had been uttered, but then he did not care. The sound of the water was calling to his soul; two kindred spirits, beating against the land.

Pressing on through the trees, he could see that they began to thin out. His pace quickened as his paws beat against the earth. The boy sauntered on stilts up until he nearly lost himself to the cliffs that appeared – seemingly – out of nowhere. Halting abruptly, he gazed down the rocks and to the ocean below. The black rock was there somewhere and he would be sure to find it.

A scent pricked the inside of his nares and the seafarer turned his skull to find that he was not the only one to stand beside the cliffs and gaze upon the ocean. Even more shocking was that this wolf was marked with the ribs of his family. Mismatched eyes locked on the female and he chuffed quietly to sound his arrival.

“You're a Cairn, aren't ye lass?”