Stavanger Bay and the earth with its starkness

It was not his name-sound that had struck the air, but it had still drawn the titan forward with a curious intention. While the great beast had set up his own den far from the location of the others, he had come to know the scents of the witch doctor’s home as they had lingered on her coat. The leviathan had had many a meeting with the slender woman, but he had found his youngest sibling’s scent to be heavy on her pelt. The inky-ribbed Cairn had been absent, from what the dark brute could tell, but still present in the bay. While he was not a creature of vast intelligence, he was still perturbed by the thoughts that plagued him in regards to the flighty woman and his pallid sibling. It would not be long before their scents were intermingled and he could not tell them apart. Skellige could not understand how a witch doctor could draw Szymon. He was seeking answers from the girl.

Drawing closer to her home, the inky creature drew his skull upward and peered at the girl. “Not the Cairn you were expecting?” he inquired with a stern expression.

The flagging of her tail was drawn to a halt as she turned and caught sight of him. The wraith did not change his expression upon seeing her. It seemed as though she was not as pleased to see him as she would have been to see the paler version of him. Still, he held her gaze with his own burning russet optics until she spoke to him. There was honesty there, that she had been calling for Szymon, and he did not bother to press that any further. It was not until she continued her speech that he found himself relaxing more. He could not doubt her; if the sea king began to doubt the one creature who could communicate with the mystics, he would be forsaking his culture. Instead, he gazed at her with an expectant stare and lifted his skull so that he would loom over her figure. There was a reason he was considered a titan in his home, and it was not because of his silent nature.

The fur along his neck and shoulders bristled slightly, but he made work of peering around at the things that she had used to decorate her den. The scents that wafted through his nostrils were familiar but also foreign to him; he had breathed them in before, but had never known their true use. Locking his vision on the assortment one last time, he pulled his gaze away from those things and locked his eyes once more on her face. “I am here now… so tell me,” he probed with raised brows. There was an expectancy there, on his features, and he would not depart until she had revealed these things to him.

The titan scoffed, almost coldly at the concept of the small witch doctor carrying his burdens. He had been loaded with them since he was a young child, and he doubted that she would be able to carry even an ounce of what was placed upon his shoulders. There were many things that the witch doctor did not know of him, but he was not prepared to share such things so openly and willingly with her. While he had a great deal of trust for the witch doctor, he did not see himself confiding in her the trials of his life and of his past. While many of those things had led him to that particular point, he could not open himself to share them. So instead, he scoffed at the idea of her carrying his burdens. It might have seemed an awful gesture to make to one so willing to do his bidding, but he was – in the end – a foul creature.

The girl went on to speak of her feelings for Szymon, and for a moment, the titan was caught off guard. He had always found a soft spot for the youngest Cairn, but he had never imagined his small brother finding love in his life. In fact, Skellige was not certain that he could even feel anything akin to love. So, he peered at the witch doctor with a cold expression on his dark features, wondering how Szymon felt about the citrine-eyed girl. They had spent a great deal of time together, that was certain, and the leviathan could understand how they would form a close bond with all that they had been preparing for. There was still a burning in his gut at the question that had fallen from her lips. She wanted to take the ink-ribbed boy as her mate.

Bristling slightly, the swarthy brute found himself growing agitated, and he did not wish to be so with the witch doctor. Forcing his heart to slow the race of its beat, he furrowed his brows and exhaled a breath that carried a heavy weight. “I am not pleased that you would deem it necessary to ask me this,” he growled quietly, “when the blessing of our lands is the only thing that should weigh heavily on your mind.” The yellow of his fangs snapped together at the end of his statement, and he shook his head twice before pulling the dark russet of his gaze away from her.

Those days were important and it was infuriating for the man to think that his witch doctor and brother had been whittling the time away with their sharing of emotions. Though he did not know the details of their feelings or when they had come to light, Skellige had found an awful taste in his mouth. The Cairn family was a selfish group of savages. Just as he found himself thoughtlessly obsessed with the sacred blessing that was to fall on their land, Szymon had found his own self-interest in his attraction to Doe.