The pirate had taken to making his rounds along the borders of the bay. He had paced dutifully along the edges. Some still contained the dark black stones that had been placed there to guard his father's land. There was a strange sensation to seeing what remained of the former pack. The ghostly figure wondered what had happened after he and Sandpiper were pulled away. He often thought his life would be entirely different if they had all stayed and built a family. Skellige had spoken of alliances and the prospect of war; he had told the two children of the black rock every night. But what if the pallid seafarer had never been pulled from the bay? Would he still feel such discomfort at being there or would he have reigned over the depths as his father had intended? He would never know, so he could not dwell.

Trekking through the cold sand, Kingfisher spotted an unfamiliar shape. It appeared to be a lump of russet fur that had tucked itself into the snow-flecked sands. She did not seem to be sleeping, so he approached her with a brazen swagger and lifted his skull upward. “Ahoy, lass,” he barked; his voice was gruff against his throat. “What brings ye to me bay?”

The russet female appeared confused at his initial remark. She repeated it in a quiet voice and then strung together an excuse that made very little sense to the pallid seafarer. He could understand that she had required a break from her travels, but the slew of words that followed fell on incompetent ears. Trying to piece together what he could, the pirate fell to assume that she had been chased by some bilge rats and had found herself in a lick of trouble. Still, he could not allow others to pass through the bay with little care; he certainly could not allow for them to park themselves to sleep for a short while without his permission. Crooking a brow upward, Kingfisher eyed her with his silver optic and then nodded shortly.

“Aye, the bay belongs to Ironsea,” he remarked with a gruff tone. “Now, lass... what do ye mean necromancers were inland, eh? Sounds like a fit of nonsense to me.” Lowering the brow, he cast her a crooked grin and drew himself a little closer. Though the young wayfarer was lean and tall, he knew well enough how to handle himself around others. “Now, I reckon ye start explanin' yerself and this old pirate might let ye off.” Depending on her answers, he might have very well tried to recruit her to the crew. She'd sneaked in well enough without any of the others noticing; seemed to Smokestep that she would make a suitable thief.

If only Smokestep could hear the thoughts that played through the female's mind; he would have been quick to take offense to the thought that there were only a few of them in the territory. Though he was working hard to establish borders and mark them sufficiently, he still had a great deal of recruiting to manage. Regardless, it was fortunate for her that the pale corsair held no telepathic capabilities. Instead, he felt a tug of pride at the splash of humor that she dared to show in regards to his age. Not long after, she took to addressing his inquiry. Smokestep had certainly not anticipated the tale that she was weaving.

It seemed that the red woman had encountered a witchdoctor pack; at least, in regards to where Smokestep had been raised, that is what it seemed to be. The borders had been marked in blood and remains. It should have been a vile thing to listen to, but the pirate was entertained by her recounting of the tale. There was a vast majority of what she said that went well over the boy's head. His ears still remained trained on her every word until she had finished and left him feeling quite peculiar inside. The white-furred hound had begun to mull over the final statement that she had given.

“Well, it does sound like ye've been through the ringer,” he remarked with a thoughtful frown. “I don't know if there are many normal lads or lasses out there, though.” Something did tickle at the back of his mind. The pirate drew his skull upward and watched her with a curious expression for a short minute before he released a sigh and loosened the muscles in his haunches. His mind was full of dangerous possibilities that had driven him to a strange mixture of excitement and fear.

“Say, how did ye get away not bein' caught an' all?”

Youth had afforded Smokestep a great number of things. He had, of course, endured the iron fist of his father and the ways of the Cairn brood. He knew, better than most, that life was not easy for any who passed through it. He was determined to ensure that he had used all the time he was granted, though. Still, Smokestep had turned out nothing like his father. Skellige would have surely tossed this wench to the sharks and waited for them to feast on her as an offering to the ocean. The young pirate instead was rather intrigued by what she was saying about the witchdoctors in the wood. He had only known those who lived on the Warsaw Islands, and their ways had been about as unfamiliar to him as a downtown intersection would have been.

“I s'pose not, then,” he remarked to her statement about going in unprepared. The corsair was still royally confused when it came to the matters in which she spoke. He equated them to his own personal memories, but knew that he could have been entirely wrong. There was a chance that she was speaking about something far more sinister in those woods. The fiery woman then mentioned that she would not return to the wood without plenty of backup, to which he scoffed a bit more openly than he should have. Still, it could have been misinterpreted as him scoffing at the absolute gall of the 'necromancers' that she had mentioned before.

The conversation shifted a bit as she mentioned that she had run out of room to run. The girl motioned toward the water and Smokestep cast the waves a sidelong glance before returning his vision to her. “Yer not wrong, lass, unless yer a grand swimmer,” he then agreed with a firm bow of his head. “As much as I'd like ta be rescuin' a damsel in distress, you'd best be scootin' along unless yer aimin' to join me crew,” he remarked after several long moments. Smokestep then fixed her with an expectant expression that suggested she start walking away from the bay or express some interest in being a part of Ironsea.

The red woman started to speak but then caught her tongue and the pale wolf watched her with an expectant expression. He thought, for a moment, that she was missing a few marbles. It had been proven, so far, that she was relatively harmless save for the remarks made about necromancers. Smokestep still did not believe that there were such things hiding in the woods; he had been witness to numerous frightening beings, but they had always been explained by the mystics of the sea or the vile heart that rested within. He had a sneaking suspicion that her necromancers were one of the two, and he was interested in if he would be granted the chance to find out.

“Ye've got all the chance in the world, miss. Real question is whether ye've got the guts,” he said to her comment finally. The Ironsea wolves were a ragtag crew, and they were young, but Smokestep had great plans for them and he intended to see his members stayed fit with him until they died. “Once a pirate, always a pirate, so ye don't come along an' then leave without facin' the consequences,” he then added with a serious furrowing of his brows and a splaying of his ears.

“Have ye got what it takes, Godot?”

That she opted to hold her tongue was probably wisest. If the red woman had attempted to state her doubts about remaining in the pack, Smokestep would have walked her to the borders and told her to watch her step on the way out. Even still, he would not have been quite as lenient when the pack was fully formed. She seemed as though she accepted the code and this brought him to a pleasant relief. Her feigned mask of concern was strong enough that his daft mind could not see through it, even if he had tried.

Godot affirmed that she had guts and then asked if there was anything special that would be required. Smokestep chuckled loudly at the request and shook his head. “Ye'll be fine, lass. The special will come later on when yer earnin' yer sea legs,” he told her with a smile. Motioning toward the pack terrain, he made it clear that she was free to come and go as she pleased. “I'll give ye the grand tour if ye'd like, but what ye see is what ye get fer the most part. Got a few tucked away treasures in there,” he then stated and motioned for her to follow him further into the bay.

The girl made a point to be polite about his offer and Smokestep tossed his head back to chuckle at it. “There's no need fer niceties, lass,” he assured her with a swift wink. Without bothering to see if she would follow, he began to trek in through the terrain to point out substantial landmarks that would be of note. The two spent their next little while getting Godot familiar with the bay and the scents of the various crew members that had wafted through. Once they had finished, Smokestep allowed her to be free of his great company and mentioned that she would do best to make herself a home. After this, he had trotted off to the small batch of caves and found a quiet place to nap.