The breath of the ocean would always call to the corsair. He would live and die by her waters and find his body swept away in her depths. All of the Cairn children should have hoped for such a death. Though he was young and had much to learn, the ghostly figure knew this and had no remorse or doubt in his mind; the ocean would always be his home.

He kept to the shores as best as he could, keeping an eye out for signs of incoming packs. The green-eyed woman in the wood had been certain that there were others who had expressed interest in founding their own claim. The pirate was eager to see if any of them thought themselves capable enough to stand on the edges of the sea and stake their claim there. Cocksure and turgid, he did not believe that all of them had the capability to withstand her violent wake. Smokestep was eager to see who would try.

Padding along the bay that he did not seek to establish, the pallid wayfarer caught sight of an entirely unfamiliar figure. Letting out a quiet woof to sound his presence, Kingfisher sauntered forward with a surefooted pace to his lengthy limbs.

The stranger returned his greeting, rising and turning to face Smokestep's approach. The pallid corsair flagged his tail once before increasing his pace through the sands to close the distance between them. His long strides made little time of the attempt, and he approached the agouti male with a surefooted swagger. The pirate closed his crimson eye into a squint and peered at the other male with a ghostly argent optic. This action caused his face to swing dramatically to one side and cast a crooked smirk on his features – the expression was trademark for the wily sea hound.

“Ahoy, lad,” Smokestep drawled. His pink tongue slipped from between his teeth and he wiped it across the whiskers on his muzzle and his dark lips. The water continued to beat against the shore without care, spraying the young wolf with saline and the breath of the ocean.

The other male was quick to remove formalities. He offered his name without hesitation and then inquired what he might call the swaggering pirate in return. The pale hound remained relatively at ease, ears swiveling forward to capture the request. “Oi, well... les see. Me name's Smokestep. Pleasure is all mine,” the cocksure pirate offered his own calling with a dramatic bow of his head before standing back upright and swaying gently where he stood.

Opening his squinted orb, the ghost peered at the wolf called Engel for a long while before the other male's words had registered in his ears. The poor lad was commenting on how cold the water had been. “Aye, she's awful brisk this time o' year,” he agreed with a solemn nod of his head. “Say, ye don' seem too familiar with the sea, mate. This yer first time?” The brown male did not seem as though he could carry as much comfort as Smokestep could when confronted by the frigid lashings of the ocean and her waters.

So it seemed that the agouti wolf was no stranger to the seaside and her tempting ways. This was pleasing to the pirate, who had lived his life with an obvious longing for the push and pull of the ocean water. There were truly a select few who were so devoted to the swell that they had opted to remain there for the duration of their lives. The pale hound was one of those few, but he wore the badge of honor with pride.

Engel posed a question that struck the pirate a little queerly. He cocked a brow and frowned thoughtfully, drawing the crooked smirk from his lips and flipping it. “That's just the way I talk, mate,” the pale hound responded. His voice was a titch louder than might have been acceptable for the inquiry, but the pirate's social graces were severely lacking. “What say yer the one who's talkin' funny, eh?” and as the query fell from his inky lips, the corsair looked to Engel indignantly.

It seemed as though his sweet whistling words had caused the cogs to turn inside of the other male's head. Smokestep allowed his lips to curl upward into a contented smile and he nodded his head, as if he were trying to reiterate the statement before. The pirate felt as though he had made a fair point and was appreciative that the other male had taken such a point and agreed upon it; it showed he had an open mind and was willing to listen.

The next inquiry that fell from the red-agouti male's lips caused the corsair to chuckle softly. “Aye. I belong to the sea, mate. I was born here and I aim to die on these shores,” he answered with a confident nod and a crooked grin. “As fer yer pack question, I have got some good news fer ye. Yer lookin at the Captain o' the Ironsea wolves, lad. The most wily an' fierce band o pirates in these parts.” His chest swelled with pride at the statement and even though the Ironsea wolves were still fresh in the making, Smokestep was making good progress. He was aiming to recruit more.

The pirate lifted his brows at the sound of his accent being imitated by the stranger. His eyes roamed over the other male's face before he chuckled and flicked his tail upward. Though he was just more than a year, Smokestep had heard his fair share of passersby who would attempt to mimic his inflections. Somehow, they all sounded differently and almost none of them sounded perfectly comparable. Regardless, the pallid corsair was hoping to sweet talk this fellow into joining the wolves of the Ironsea crew. It seemed that he had piqued some sort of interest in the red-hued stranger. Dramatic as it was, he allowed himself to play into it.

Bobbing his head, the two-toned eyes of the pirate danced along the other male's frame for a moment before settling to his face. “Oi, well ye keep that up an' ye'll be a pirate yet,” he said with a confident nod. “Ye spend enough time with the crew an' ye start to get a good feelin' for the lifestyle.” Drawing himself up higher and smirking wildly, Smokestep feigned as if he was sizing up the other wolf for several long seconds.

“I've got room fer ye, but ye must understand that the oath of a pirate is fer life. Once a member of me crew, always a member of me crew.”

The other male seemed to be mulling over the thought of what Smokestep had said to him. After some short while, he asked if it would be at all possible to venture out from the pack and travel. The pirate had met many who enjoyed the thirst of wanderlust and where it took them. It seemed as though this male made an effort to convey that he would return every time. As long as he upheld this vow, the Captain would not find himself too bothered by it.

Drawing his ears forward, Smokestep nodded his head. “Aye, as long as ye return an' ye make an effort to be part o' the crew,” he instructed firmly. Ironsea would not be for those who wished to step in and out on a whim; his crew were members of his for the rest of their days. It was an oath that was never meant to be broken.

”Ye think ye can do that?”

The enthusiasm was promising; it showed that he was eager to begin a new life with the Ironsea crew. It was good to know that the new blood was going to be willing to take the life seriously. Smokestep was already feeling as though he had a strong group at his back. With Raptor and Sandpiper at his side, he knew that they would be able to handle anything that came their way. Still, he was finding good bodies every day that he traveled away from the bay and it gave him hope that there were wolves out there who would accept the sea as their home – forever.

“Ye know we've got a name fer that, lad. Ye'd make a grand Lookout; somethin' to work toward, aye?” the ghostly figure explained with a firm bob of his head. The question that lingered in the air was a large one and had many different options for answer. Where to start... Smokestep felt that it was wisest to begin with their base of operation. “We've got a speck o' land not far from here; a bay. That'll be the home o' the Ironsea crew.”

The red-furred fellow seemed to like the ring of the rank that had been presented to him. Of course, he didn't know what was required of the rank. In due time, he would come to understand. To earn one's sea legs was a great honor, but would require a great deal of work before it could be accomplished. It would take a great deal of strength from this Engel, as he had revealed himself. The more he gave, the more he would change.

Gesturing with his muzzle, his ears swiveled as he caught Engel testing the tongue of the pirate lingo on his lips. Once he was called lad he curled his lip slightly and chuckled in a low tone. “I'm no lad to ye, boy. I'm yer Captain,” he said with a confident nod of his skull.

The wolf Engel was already eager for his first tasks. Smokestep admired the confidence and the exuberance that was demonstrated by his newest companion. The pale pirate fixed the other male with a thoughtful expression before he motioned down the coast some ways. “Ye say ye like ta travel, aye? Wot say ye venture down the coast some an' see if we've got us some neighbors,” the corsair suggested with a swift nod of his own skull. It would provide the newest recruit a means of stretching his limbs and would also grant some evidence of other packs that had made a home along the shores. The pale Captain wanted to be sure that he knew where he stood on the ocean and that he knew where the others were stationed as well.

The task that had been presented to Engel was enough to spark some life into the fellow. Smokestep thought it a good choice to recruit the reddish scout. He would make for a keen lookout on the crew, and they were in need of someone who liked to venture. As it stood, the pale pirate preferred to keep close to the waters, and he imagined that Sandpiper would be very much the same way. They became different monsters the further they were from their beloved sea. Engel would certainly earn his sea legs in no time.

“Welcome to the crew then, matey,” Smokestep stated with a wink and a smirk. The two traveled on down the shore and back to the bay so that the Captain could introduce their newest member to the land. Then, he set Engel free to do as he pleased and explained that he would seek him out at a later time if anything should come up.