It was not often that the young Captain heard his name in repetition, or with such urgency. When the sound of Engel’s voice made its way to him, he whirled in his place and made his way for the confident scout. The commotion of the incidents of that day had not yet reached him; he did not know that the ocean had claimed one of his very own. Emerging from his den and casting his gaze toward the frantic Engel, Smokestep trotted in the direction of the other male with confusion etched across his features. Both eyes searched the other’s face for signs of what might have happened, but all he could sense was fear and sadness. His heart began to race and he picked up his pace until he was no more than ten yards away. “Wot the fuck is goin’ on?” he barked sharply and waited for the other to speak.  

Words spilled from his lips faster than Smokestep had the chance to catch them, or at least to comprehend them. When he had finally pieced the bits and pieces together, he looked at Engel with a gaping jaw and his eyes trailed the edges of the shore in search of a body. Surely, if it was a beast from the waves that had taken her, they would not have left much behind. His pelt bristled and he shook his head. “Wot? Engel, mate… ye best be tellin’ me wot happened out thar,” he told the other wolf. The scout’s face was streaming tears and Smokestep was doing everything within his power to remain collected and reserved in the face of such a terrible accident. Something in the back of his mind pricked like a pin against his brain, but he tried his best to fight it away. Pacing in one spot for a few moments, Smokestep then looked to Engel and frowned.
 
“Was it a shark, lad?” he asked, desperation clinging to his tone. As much as he would have felt broken to find that a shark had pulled Awinita into the depths to devour her, there was another possibility that had burned inside of him in the form of a life-long brand. Skellige had always told stories about his sister Ksenia and her wicked ways. Smokestep’s aunt had taken the killer whale as her spirit guide and it acted as a measure of her wrath on difficult days. If an orca had come too close to shore and taken one of his crew, it was surely a sign that he had done something terribly wrong and the great ones would punish him for it.

The weight of what had happened had finally sunk in to the young pirate. He could feel the heavy burden that had fallen on Engel and he wanted the scout to wipe that from his mind. Smokestep shook his head and snorted softly in response to the final whine that had been issued from the red wolf’s mouth.
 
“No, mate… don’t ye say things like that,” he growled softly. “The sea demanded a life, an’ she took wot she wanted.” It was the dramatic truth; life beside the ocean was not something that came with joy and ease, most of the time. Smokestep’s father had been keen to remind the boy that the water was nothing to toy with. There were dangers that lurked in the depths. The swell was home to things far more fearsome than the wolves that dwelled in the bay. The loss of Awinita was frustrating for him because he knew that she had carried a lot of promise with her. More than that loss, he found a sense of pride in her death. The pale girl had fought for her crew mate and had given her life to Ironsea. It was a noble death.
 
“It ain’t yer fault, Engel. Thar was nothin’ ye could do.”

Engel seemed to grow steadily more serious before he cast a desolate expression toward the pale Captain and uttered a few small words that didn’t sit so well with the pirate. Smokestep peered at his scout with a cocked brow and an expression that openly showed he did not understand what was happening, or what Engel was truly saying. Gaping his mouth some, the marauder shook his head and then pointedly peered at the reddish-hued male who had delivered the bad news of Awinita’s death.
 
“O’ course she did… we’re a crew, mate. All o’ us care ‘bout each other,” he affirmed with a swift nod of his head. It was terrible to know that the pallid woman had gone, but Smokestep hardly thought it was the time to discuss her undying devotion to the pack and its members.

It was safe to say that Smokestep was a little daft when it came to understanding others. He did his best to stay on top of things, but when Engel remarked that the late Awinita had liked the young Captain as more than just a member of the crew, he squinted his eyes sharply and his lips became a thin line on his sharp face. There was something that unsettled him about it; something that bothered him to imagine. Here was a perfectly living man who was telling his Captain about a dead girl who had expressed feelings for him, of sorts. Smokestep almost felt haunted; he could not describe the emotions that fluttered about in the pit of his gut.
 
“She… never said nothin’ to me,” he said with a frown.
 
It was true, though, that she had never really expressed this interest to him personally. It stung to know that she had tucked her secrets away from him. It stung to know that he would never hear it from the girl’s lips. The young pirate felt his teeth grit together and he breathed deeply. “Fuck, mate… I ain’t even got a clue wot to say.” With that, Smokestep turned and left the scene. He wasn’t prepared to deal with the emotional catastrophe of dealing with the death of a crew mate as well as her unresolved feelings for him. He wasn’t strong enough to shoulder the weight of it.