The distance from the Teekon Wilds to their true homeland of Warsaw Island was an impressive hike. Smokestep had been young when his father had pulled him from the bay and carried him through the wilderness. The young boy had nearly died. Of course, Skellige had managed to keep both Kingfisher and his sister alive for the entire duration of their trek. He had found women to nurse them, travel with them, and sustain them during the coldest parts of winter. He had taken them back to the islands where he had been banished and had raised them for a year before sending them back to reclaim the depths. Both Smokestep and Sandpiper had been raised the way that all Cairn wolves were intended to be raised: with the hand of war.

Picking his way through the thick wood, the pallid brute craned his neck to see if his sister was still following or to see if she had wandered off to find them prey. A single crimson orb darted between the trees and the pirate inhaled deeply to capture her scent. She was there – somewhere – but not where the ghostly figure could see her brightly speckled coat. The Kingfisher waited beneath the thick canopy. His shoulders hunched against the chilling wind that whistled through the branches.

Leaving Warsaw had not been the ideal situation for the pale Cairn. He had built a warrior of himself in their homeland. He had proven himself to be a master of the sea. By his sister's side, the two had exceeded most any task that they had been presented with. When Skellige had bid them to travel back to the wilds to reclaim the black rock, Smokestep had been struck with a sour, toxic feeling. Of course, he did not dare disobey the inky brute. He had learned better not to challenge the orders that came from their father.

This was their chance; Kingfisher and Sandpiper could lead and this was the test of their capabilities. As cocksure as he was of himself, the pale Cairn was pleased that he had his sister at his side. The quest to reclaim their lands would have been far more difficult on his own. Not impossible, but he feared that he would have made more enemies than friends in his attempts.

The scent of the speckled female wafted through his nostrils. Smokestep craned his skull around to fixate his eyes on her. His leathery lips curled slightly and he heaved a snort as she closed the space between them. The Kingfisher did not need for her to speak to know her request. Turning to face front, he breathed deeply. The fur along his neck and shoulders pricked as he did this.

“I can smell the salt,” he drawled. The Cheshire smirk increased and his lengthy ears rose atop his skull. It seemed that they would be trapped in the trees forever, but the closer he came to the edge of the ocean, the more he could feel his heart thrum.

Smokestep shared the same sentiments for the land as his sister; he always would. There was nothing that appealed to him about the thick trunks of the trees or the sharp pang of the thorns in the underbrush. He knew the ocean. He knew the ocean better than he knew himself. She was wild and careless, but she had given his family everything that they needed and more. Her temperament was all that he imagined it to be. Smokestep had fashioned himself after the brutal temptress.

The pale brute nodded in response to his sister's sentiment. He could not have agreed more. A short chuckle escaped from between his dark lips and he turned back to face her. “Do you think our siblings will be there still?” he inquired carefully. Their father had said that two had been left behind and they were instructed to find these two and bring them home. Smokestep certainly did not want to waste any more time scouring the woodland for Moorhen and Redshank. He did not understand how a Cairn could stand to be so far from the sea, after all.

Dark lips curled in a grin that allowed yellow and pointed canines to poke from below. A rumbling chuckle echoed in his throat. Her response was nothing more than appropriate. He would have expected nothing less of the speckled seabird.

“Aye,” he agreed with dark humor painting the word. Smokestep agreed well with the companionship of Sandpiper. He had never found her company to by anything more than welcome, in spite of the salt that coursed through her veins. She took well after their father and her sharp tongue was a reminder of home and family – the only family that mattered.

With this, the ghost continued his trek forward. The less time that he had in those woods, the better. He was growing restless and was not eager to see if they should happen across any woodland wolves hunkered beneath the canopy.

“We must touch the black rock when we land near the depths,” he reminded her in a voice that sounded faintly like a half-grunt, half-growl. They had heard of the sacred and jagged landmark since they were old enough to understand it.

The seafarer knew that she would agree. The black rock was their own to claim, and the pale beast knew with each thrum of his heart that they drew close. The sea had blessed them with her might and they would be required to return to her. Already, the pale beast grew tiresome of the passing trees and the melodious cries of the birds overhead. His limbs longed to feel the crashing of the waves against them and the sharp caw of the seagull against the saline winds. Smokestep felt that if he had to trek much further, his good nature would whittle to a short fuse.

Up no more than fifty yards from the two travelers, the brush rustled with the activity of a young hare – eager to bound beneath the canopy of shelter. As the pirate closed the space between himself and the prey animal, he slowed his pace. His ears stood tall atop his skull and he lowered his muzzle toward the earth with an intent expression. The marauder lifted his head a few inches from the earth to warn his sibling of nearby food.

“There's game afoot,” he growled quietly.

The two moved almost as though they were one in the same body. She did not need to speak as she pulled herself toward the rear of the hare and waited on readied paws for Smokestep to find his place. He shrunk himself – an odd sight on such lengthy stilts. The marauder slunk forward like a fox through the wood. His tail was held low, waiting until he could close the space on their prey. Smokestep did not need to watch for Sandpiper; he knew that she would be ready to spring.

Fixing his eyes on the target, he tossed his tail upward in a signal for Sandpiper to start the chase. Surely, the hare would not have far to go. Smokestep waiting with ready jaws and sharpened fangs for the small animal to make his attempt. The Cairn children would eat well enough to continue their trek. It would not be long before they would be able to feast on prey of the sea.