There was a breath of agitation as the great inky wraith heaved a great sigh. He had done as he was instructed by the pale female; he had allowed the seaweed to stick to his neck and shoulder for longer than the two days she had demanded of him. When she had not returned on the second day, Skellige had found himself in a fury. The word of others was so easily discarded. His own knowledge of healing was thin; having never had to tend to his own wounds, the dark-furred titan was at something of a loss. Without the aid of the woman who had promised to return, he had simply been forced to cope with the seaweed as a part of him. He was not foolish enough to mess with the work she had done.
 
The Cairn male had kept to the bay for most of his healing process. He had not felt the need to risk causing worse damage to his body when he was aiming to take hold of the land and surround himself in followers. And while he would not admit it readily, the silver-ribbed savage was fearful that Ksenia would find him and seek to take advantage of his weak state. The colorless, foul, lying devil of a she-wolf could not have been far from him if she intended to return him home as she suggested.
 
He was no fool, though, and he would bide his time until he was capable of taking what he deserved. Until the gash on his neck had healed, he would remain on the shores of the bay and tend to the waters that lapped lazily there. Even in his condition, he was more than capable of fending for himself. 
 

There was a moment of surprise when the inky creature caught sight of an approaching stranger. He had thought for a moment that it was the emerald-eyed woman, returning to tend to him in the way she had promised. When the sun was not beating directly on the other wolf, he noted that she was painted in ash and not the freshly fallen powder of Deirdre’s coat. With a huff, he could feel himself growing more agitated with the thought that his healer had not returned to him.
 
Quite suddenly, the inky titan’s body came to life from its position in the sand, and he lifted his head so that he could crane his neck. A gruff noise was emitted from his mouth as he forced himself into a seating position and pointed his muzzle in the direction of the approaching stranger. His dark gaze flashed in a way that would appear to have been somewhat territorial. The lands were unclaimed, but he was a creature who had just gotten over an injury, and he truly had no grounds to throw someone from the bay.
 
Drawing his salmon-colored tongue across his dark mouth, he leered at the grey-coated woman who was traipsing on the beach, aimed for his position in the sands.

The grey-coated female seemed to make pause in her journey once she had seen his body come to life, and truly there was reason to heed his figure. Though he had not actually risen from the dead, the dark wraith was closer to the land of the deceased than he was that of the living. Having taken very few companions in his life, he knew more of what it meant to take another creature’s life than he did to bringing life. Her assumption of him had not entirely been incorrect. Still, he remained in his position, eyes following her movements so that he could make sure she had no intention of flanking him.
 
The woman did not look at all familiar to him, though her coat coloration did remind him of his sister Ishild’s for a moment. This woman did not have the dark markings around her eyes, though. As she drew her figure closer to him, the male watched her with narrowed brows and a curling frown. Once she had closed some of the distance, he drew in the scent on her coat and instantly came to life.
 
“You have a healer in your pack. Small, pale, green eyes,” he remarked in a rumbling baritone. His words caused his lips to draw over his stained canines. “Does she still call the shores her home?”

At once the slate colored stranger became defensive, and the response that slipped from her muzzle was not kindly in the slightest. The wraith chuckled softly and shook his head from side to side. He was not even certain that this female knew who he spoke of, but he had been interested enough to inquire, so he would see it through. Drawing his head upward to show the seaweed that was wrapped along his neck and shoulder, the sea king flicked his eyes to her and frowned.
 
“She aided me when I was injured and said she would return, but has not,” he explained to this woman in a level tone. Best not to frighten her, he thought to himself with a wicked expression on his features. Osprey was rightfully wary of the wraith. Even his physical appearance commanded some sense of unease from most creatures that he happened upon. Skellige was not perturbed by her, though, and did quietly hope that she would know if Deirdre would be returning to finish tending to his wounds.

The nature of his relationship was far too young to be considered friendly. The inky titan had merely been offered the companionship of the young woman because the sea had willed it upon him. She had come to tend to the wound on his neck and shoulder, and – at that time – nothing more. The assumptions that Osprey had made internally about the great brute were close enough to his true nature. Though the slate-coated woman did not know him or where he hailed from, the apprehension in trusting him was not without cause. He had been birthed with the inky coat and savage expression as a warning for those passersby who happened upon him, just as she had.
 
When the girl spoke and made the effort to relay his message to Deirdre, the leviathan nodded his head slowly and drew his tongue across his muzzle and leathery lips. “That would be…” he paused for a moment, squinting his dark optics at the female, “greatly appreciated.” Though formalities were not the wraith’s forte, he could afford a few niceties in an effort to have his message delivered. Skellige was a skeptical brute, though, and thought that this wolf of the forest would hold tightly to his words instead of sharing them with the young healer of her pack.

It seemed that her hesitation faded for a moment as she prompted him with questions of his wellbeing. The inky brute was not certain that he wanted to shed light on the injury on his shoulder with this female who had seemed wary of him and untrusting. The titan knew better than to share his weaknesses openly with those who were not trusted by himself or the mystics who watched over him. Her inquiries were left to linger in the air for a moment before the leviathan fixed her with his gaze and found himself breathing outward. If he did not share with her, she was unlikely to send his message along to the forest nymph who had tended to him.
 
“She instructed me not to touch the wrapping. I am fond of the sea, but I do not wish to keep its weeds attached to my being,” he answered her carefully.