The coast did not seem to house many packs. At the very least, Skellige had scented two of them. One was heavily marked with the scent of females and stood guarded by towering cliffs to either side. While the other seemed to be no more than a natural pack. He had only crossed another lone wolf in the area, though. This gave the savage creature his confidence. 

Rain drizzled down heavily dousing the earth and Skellige's thick inky pelt. His ears were flattened to his skull as he trudged through the wild wood in search of the edge of the forest. It seemed to stretch for an eternity. The deep crimson that shrouded the area was unsettling and aggravating for the Cairn male. His nerves were already fried. Without shelter, he would be far more likely to lash out. 

His own soaked pelt seemed to cling to his thick figure aggressively. Pausing for a moment, the swarthy savage shook the loose droplets from his body and heaved a heavy sigh. It was then that the sound of his pelt seemed to echo. Lengthy ears darted forward and his dark mahogany gaze turned in the direction of the noise to catch sight of another wolf in the presence of the crimson wood. She seemed tranquil enough, though she had not spoken out to catch his attention. Perhaps she had not wanted to be seen, he thought with a frown sinking to his lips. Flicking the tip of his tail, the silver-ribbed aboriginal beast watched her at length before turning to her direction. He sought the shelter.
 
Muscles rippled from beneath his coat as he trotted towards her and slowed a breath away. Drawing his gaze upwards to meet her fiery view, he did not part his lips to speak, but instead waited for the strange woman to extend the invitation. Was it not issued, he would take it without question.

She reacted as they all do; hesitantly. He was a wicked sight to behold. A wraith, dark of body and spirit, with the vilest of auras clinging to his being. Skellige was not a wolf who was sought for comfort or companionship. He was a fighter. The eldest Cairn child was a product of war and was raised to believe that life was no more than just that. In everything he did, he was forced to recall this. There would never come a time when he would not revoke the memory of the Warsaw Islands and hold fast to the premise that those lands belonged to him. The thirst would never be quenched.
 
His breath struck her face and he watched as she reacted to his close presence. First by eyeing him cautiously, then by extending herself forward to draw in his scent. He smelled of damp fur, brine, and blood. He could feel the hot air from her nose as she bathed in his being. Snorting, he blinked at her with a sharp expression and flicked his ears forward. His body was hers to inspect, should she need such comfort. But he did not need to breathe in her strange aroma to know that she would not be a risk to his wellbeing.
 
The rain continued to drizzle onto his skull, and the wraith blinked the water from his eyes, following the woman as she examined his being.

The fur along his neck rose upwards stiffly while the stranger finished her inspection of his chassis. When she had concluded her once-over, she returned to peer curiously at his face. Dark eyes followed her movements without an adjustment to his demeanor. It did not take long for words to fall breathlessly from her lips. Death, she called him. His brows furrowing tightly over his dark eyes, Skellige curled his lip upward to flash a vile yellow fang at the she wolf. His breath was foul as it left his lips. She was requesting his companionship through the rain and furthermore for a hunt. The lands were barren of most prey; the silver-ribbed Cairn did not understand how she could have expected to catch anything.
 
“Do not offend me,” he growled in a guttural baritone, “by comparing me to death.” Flicking his ears backwards to fall against his skull. “I need shelter. If you should stay, then so be it.” Her actions would not dictate his. And the hulking wraith did not care if his words would sting her.

It appeared as though the female who had been struck by her interest in him was too skittish to remain in the dark wolf’s presence. He had no qualms with watching her leave after his previous remark. If she had wished to stay and share the space with him, he would have allowed it. Instead, he watched as the female took his words and departed with no more than a quick glance from her jack-o-lantern gaze. No parting words were offered.
 
It was not long before the shape of another seemed to fill the empty space. Skellige watched her with careful eyes as she wound her way in his direction, intent on finding his company. This wolf was different from the last; she was pale in appearance with smatterings of black throughout her pelt. Her eyes were a startling blue that he had never seen before. When she approached him, she spoke with an unnatural calmness to her words and he canted his skull to leer at her with wild auburn eyes. There was no fear on this she-wolf.
 
When speaking of the previously departed company, the inky brute scoffed openly and shook his head. “No,” he responded verbally. His tongue licked against his dark lips and teeth in a flash before he locked his eyes on her face, scowling. “Is she a friend of yours?” he then returned in something of a mocking tone; the glint in his gaze had turned sour.

The ashen female did not seem altogether bothered by his crass and caustic nature. And so, he was not bothered by her peculiar calmness and quiet response to the inquiry that he had thrown back to her feet. Her silence was a welcome change to that of the talkative world around them. While the rain continued to pour before the two creatures, drizzling lightly into the pelts of the wolves, Skellige trained his eyes on the rolling clouds that were churning overhead. She had no friends, but neither did he. In that regard, they were more alike than he would have imagined.
 
After she arranged herself in a more comfortable position, the pitch-colored titan lowered himself into a seating position and breathed a heavy sigh. The noise that accompanied them was only that of the pattering rain against the ground and what little the trees had overhead. The occasional roll of thunder would sound softly in the distance as the storm moved forward. The quiet between them did not distress the Cairn.
 
It was after a short time that she mentioned the scent he carried on his inky coat. His gaze turned to meet the corner of her face and he listened to her quietly recount the time she had seen the ocean herself; it had inspired her. A shadow of a smile curled the dark of his lips and he nodded his head. “She inspires all. I was born in her waters… bred from her salt. Why did you leave if you found such inspiration?” he remarked to her with a curious glint in the russet of his gaze.

 
The pitch-cloaked monster had no way of knowing what about him had drawn the ashen woman to his side in that moment. Her past was entirely a private ordeal that did not pertain to who he was as a person. Still, he was curious to know how she could feel so calm at his side. A comparison could easily be made for Skellige and the wolf of her past. He too was driven solely on carnal instinct. The desires that sprouted up inside of his gut like a wild fire; all he could do was add kindle to that flame. It kept him alive.
 
When she cleverly spoke of their distance from the ocean waves, the dark brute turned sharply to her and his eyes locked tightly with her own. He did not waver, but instead held the sight while his mind churned in hopes of creating a response. He was not the type to share the past he had endured. This woman was a stranger to him. Their only common ground was the shelter that they had sought together. Were he to unleash the culture of the Warsaw wolves and the islands that he had called home… to share his banishment with her – it would be too much. And the wraith was not one to share openly.
 
“I have something to prove,” he answered instead with short words and a cold frown. “But you are wrong… the land owns all of us,” he continued, leering at her with wild russet optics. “Just look at your frame and the jut of your bones against your flesh.” His words slithered from his lips like a serpent. The famine had taken a tight hold on the lives of the wolves in the Teekon Wilds. No-one was an exception to this rule. “You are a slave to the land you live on just as I.” He was not haughty about belonging to the sea. The great swell of the ocean waves was a beautiful master, and a dangerous one. She had crafted him into a force to be reckoned with.
 

There was a certain kind of recklessness to the sooty creature of the sea. While the ashen female beside him was self-aware and open-minded enough to take into consideration his size and the fearless glint in his eyes… she knew better than to fight him. Skellige never approached situations with the same mentality. He was base, simple in his thoughts and actions, with rare moments of fleeting charm and intelligence. The dark titan was fueled solely on determination he had to prove the man he was. Inside of his gut, there was a rage that was churning like an age old storm. After having sighted Ksenia, he knew that he would need to act sooner than he had anticipated.
 
The girl at his side made a response that suggested her soul would never be bound. He did not care to comment on this. The soul of a creature was tied in many different things. She was not an exception to this. That was the designated job of the soul; to be tugged and pulled, and attached to many things that would allow for it to take root. Whether it was land or the body of another, her soul belonged to many things. The inky creature did not care to argue this.
 
After a second or two, lightning rippled across the sky and thunder boomed overhead. Skellige’s dark eyes trailed upwards to the churning clouds. He breathed deeply in the scent of rain against the earth. When the female beside him turned to introductions, he found himself mildly baffled. The dark titan had come across many others in his stay in the Teekon, but none had asked for his moniker. She was introduced as Emily; a name that sounded entirely foreign to his ears. The shadowy brute turned to her as she requested his in return. “Skellige Cairn.” The Sea King.

Her tongue danced over his name with a strange precision. She did attempt to mimic his pronunciation with caution, but he did not expect that she would ever forget the way it was spoken. He was a man of conviction, and even when he spoke his calling to a stranger, the wraith had no intention of allowing them to leave without knowing the weight that it carried. He was a Cairn, and though he had been banished from his home with nothing more than a lashing of teeth and words, he would not allow his own legacy to be tarnished. There was a certain feeling in his gut that forced him to realize that he would never allow another to take what was rightfully his.
 
Though that fire burned in his gut, the flashing image of Ksenia erupted through the hell-forged musings in his own mind. Her luring silver gaze caused his gut to churn and the fur along his neck and spine to prickle with unease. If she was in the Teekon, he was convinced that nothing good would come. His pale sibling was an omen of death… and if she was there, he knew the others could not be far behind.
 
The pale woman spoke to him in reflection of another wolf – someone she had cared deeply for – and he returned the words with nothing more than a stale expression on his gruff face. Skellige did not have a comment on the yearnings she had once had for a perfect stranger. Instead, he found himself still bothered by the thought of Ksenia’s eyes on the back of him. Ruffling his own coat a bit, the wraith moved suddenly so that he could feel the rain against his pelt and flesh. It was time to return to the sea. The female mentioned a liking for his company. Flashing his gaze to her face once more, he frowned. “Come to the coast. I am not likely to leave her side again,” he rasped to her with a flash of his wild eyes.
 
Without another word, the inky male had set his course and his lengthy limbs carried him along a beaten path, away from the woman. He cared very little if she actually sought him out; if her longing did not cease and she found herself curiously thinking of him, she would find him near the wicked tug of the ocean waves. He did not believe himself to be safe unless he could put the sands beneath his feet.