The Sentinels long dead rows of daffodils and marigolds

Disappointment fell as the male mentioned he was only passing through. Smokestep wondered still if he could manage to swing him around to stay. He was moderately surprised at the next inquiry that came from the stranger. He hoped to know if there were any packs nearby. A proud smile creased his features and he nodded his head enthusiastically. Making sure to present himself properly, Smokestep puffed his chest out and peered at the wolf with a devilish smirk on inky lips.

“Yer in luck, lad. Yer talkin' to the Captain o' the Ironsea crew. We're nestled down in the bay, just there,” he stated in a rumbling timbre. The corsair motioned with a swing of his muzzle in the direction of the bay and then back to the mangled creature before him. “Ye'd make a fine addition, yknow?” he then prompted with a wink and a toothy grin. The unnamed fellow's glance toward the air was unnoticed by the youthful pirate. In fact, he had assumed that all the talk of an Adéwalé had been in regards to another traveler of the same species. He didn't have the foggiest of clues that Brig had been referring to a Jackdaw in the trees.

Smokestep was not unfamiliar when it came to being declined, but he'd packed an arsenal of prompts in hopes of wrangling strangers to his ship, and he was eager to see if he could find a few more. Full ranks would prove to be a promising start, and he would deal with those who left at a later date.

“As fer other packs, ye'll find three more on the coast an' a great load o' others inland.”