Stavanger Bay under the waves and the earth of an age

Hoping for Mister @Skellige.

Deirdre had informed her of the alliance, and seemed to believe in it with the wholeheartedness and warmth that was the paler sister's light— but Emaleth did not trust it, could not give in to such blind and innocent faith. She had been her littermate's protector beginning from their time in the womb, and perhaps in lifetimes before; despite her distance in their youth, and her absence in the wake of their father's death, this had not changed. Nor would it.

She did not like that Donnelaith's borders were threatened by an encroaching pack, the sands that were their combined border somehow tainted now. Their magicks were diluted and weakened, and Emaleth imagined that the intruders' energies would spread through the forest like an infection. For a moment, she doubted that Aria had made the wrong choice; but Taltos had meant for his grove to be a sanctuary, and so it would be.

But its defense, then, must be more cunning to maintain the peace he willed. The forest would protect its own, and doubly so if it had the encouragement of Emaleth's magicks, and the additional support of her hexes.

She stood on the neutral sands, the salty ocean breeze tangling in the length of her fur.

He had visited the Blackrock that day. The stretch of ocean water had called to him from the hours of the early morning, and he had risen from his empty den to find himself directed toward the swell. The sun had not yet risen and he had submerged himself in the waters until he could sink down to where the strange jagged stone sat in the sands. Skellige had visited the rock many times, and had not yet discovered what magic it might have possessed. The titan could feel the energy radiating from the sharp edges of the massive figure, but there had been very little good luck to follow. He had wondered if Deirdre even wished to have him and his wolves on the edges of her home after all. She had certainly been busying herself with the drama that was unfolding in her pack. The leviathan wanted nothing to do with their political drama.
 
After having left the waters, the swarthy titan set to his borders in hopes that he could refresh them before he sought to fish. The wolves of Donnelaith had expressed that they were not all pleased with his choice in pack land. Skellige couldn’t have cared less. The bay did not belong to them – it was a free territory – and they had no right to block him from claiming it, no matter how pretentious they were. The shores had been blessed and they had already received the good will of their mystics. The wolves of the forest would have to pry him from the lands with tooth and claw if they wished to see him gone. And if it was a war that they wanted, they would not win against a creature who was bred to fight until his dying breath.
 
Catching sight of an inky figure who appeared quite unfamiliar to him, Skellige drew his skull upward and narrowed his eyes on the girl. She smelled of the forest, but he had not seen her and did not recall having heard of someone who matched her appearance. Curiosity drew him forward and he regarded her with a single quirked brow and an upward swing of his tail. There was not a verbal greeting to meet her, but the inky titan did cant his head to the left just slightly as if to ask what had brought her to the edges of his land.

Emaleth had walked here in her youth, following the large but softened craters her father's paws had left behind. She had leapt with tiny feet to match his strides, Deirdre at her side and joining in the game, until they reached the shoreline and their lesson would begin. It had not been Donnelaith's claim, but some piece of it belonged to Emaleth and her sister, and she rued that she could not freely visit a place so strongly tied to her memories of Lasher. She would honor the alliance, out of respect and trust in Deirdre's judgment, but she did not have to like it. Indeed, she already hated the leader of this place— and should they meet, she was sure that she would find more reason to!

It was not long she had to wait, as she had expected— her fur offered no camouflage against the sands. As the stranger approached, she measured him with eyes of ocean and forest, for she was made from both! But for the male's own eyes, he might have been her father— dark and swarthy— though Taltos did not carry the harshness of this man's gaze, a mahogany that reminded her of blood and malice.

"I am a Witch of the Wood," she told him smoothly, confidence— bolstered by spite— exuding in her stature and manner, "daughter of the Druid known as Lasher, and twin of Deirdre." If the two packs were truly allies, this statement would carry some meaning, though the littermates had yet to inherit their father's claim. "She has told me of the Depths, but I wish to understand our new neighbors for myself."

He was stoic and of few words, though Emaleth could not determine if this was true of all his interactions or simply theirs, now— and so their conversation did not stray far beneath the surface. Frustrated, for the dark witch did not favor interactions that were unfruitful, she politely dismissed herself as soon as the opportunity arose.