Ravenshook Cliffs serendipity

the ocean cried out for her attendants, and he was quick to answer with feverish song.

stood atop the seaworn bluff did he convert to a songbird — his voice bellowing, yet filled with a stillness that hummed deep within his chest.

he sang for the lost, the hungry, the wounded. he pleaded with sea and sun in his melody that they might find contentment, and that he might find them.

i hope you don't mind me & rusalka! this looked lonely. <3

the cairn patriarch does not oft stray too far from the borders of the keep — sees little need to many and most days — with the exception of keeping a weathered eye upon the migration of the herding animals and when the toys that had been gifted to his children no longer seem to entertain them as they once had.

it is the latter, this time, that pushes him out yonder, to lands strange and foreign to the cairn cubs in search of something to both teach and help strengthen the skills and instincts they would need in the future.

he wanders the coast like a soldier without his squad; windswept and stalwart faced. determined to find something new to take back to his ever inquisitive spawn.

his concentration broken, not by the strong scent of pack at his back from the neutral territory he currently scoured, nor by the distant roaring lullaby of the sea but instead by a bellowing song.

strange, rusalka thought, but then again he was not the type of man to sing without occasion. for all he knew, it could be he that is strange instead. cautiously, he veers off towards the origin of the song, to find the man cut out against the top of the buff; alone. a sailor aching for the tumultuous sea below. or so, this was what rusalka assumed.

a low chuff leaves the commander, though he is uncertain if is caught.

<3

the sea sung with him, the crashing waves a beat to keep his tempo steady. the wind a voice to join in the symphony. he let eyelids flutter close as his melody came to it's end, though it's outro was halted by the greeting of a stranger.

the dryad had not expected his call to be heeded so soon, but he found gratitude in the ocean answering his plea.

he let a warm smile greet the broad-shouldered leviathan. "blessed day to you," he called out with gentle voice.

the stranger stood as tall as he — a sea serpent taken wolfish form.

his chuff is heard, or at the very least his presence is noted. rusalka's golden ichored gaze studies the bard — for without a name to think of him bard is what he settles for.

the greeting that touches his ears is one that the cairn finds strange, but rusalka contributes that to his brutish and blunt nature that seeps into his own vernacular.

hello, rusalka returns, feeling almost caveman-ish in comparison. a moment of awkwardness settles in rusalka's chest, a writhing thing that lived inside the man, once a wolven embodiment of sea carved saltstone ( inside and out ).

a soft clear of his throat and a smoky offering like a cigar lit in the depths of night, i heard your song. it was ... pleasant. sincere but awkward.

strange, rusalka finds, how easy it was to compliment his wife or his children as opposed to a stranger whose name he did not even know.

he felt some semblance of gratification at the compliment of his song, but it is the manner in which it is spoken that left the dryad more curious than anything else.

those of his homeland sung for all desires. prayers were chanted, ambitions rendered into passionate choirs.

to cry out and sing was crafted into the marrow of his bones. to imagine a place that did not follow such practices...

"thank you," comes the throaty rumble of his voice, lips pulled upward to form a cheerful smile. "it is easy to sing when the spirits join me." the waves, the wind, the birds in the sky — each one a valuable piece of the orchestra.

"do you sing as well?" he asked with genuine interest.

rusalka draws in a low, throaty hum but offers no words on the topic of 'spirits'. ironically, the cairn was about as skeptical as they came when it came to such things. ironic because he'd chosen to guard the sacred temple of the keep and had married the valkyriequeen, assuming that she had such a faith.

he believed in the sea, in the seawinds, in the moon, salt of the earth and marrow of his bones. tangible things, to him.

but he couldn't — and wouldn't — begrudge anyone else their beliefs.

no, he rumbles when the question of signing is asked of him; a ghost of a memory's smile tugging at the edges of his lips: there and gone before it could make itself very known. if i did, they'd be bawdry sea shanties and no one wants to hear those.

the leviathan answered with a guttural reply, and the dryad found himself in a sense of sorrow. the stranger believed his ballad unworthy, and the fen thought this untrue. he'd not heard the sea-man sing, but he knew that the ocean listened to all hymns sung for her. "you might be surprised," he let out with deep earnest.

he turned then, out to face the breeze and roar of unrestrained saltwater.

"do you live near to these cliffs?" came the sudden cut of his voice. sea shanties had been spoken, and salt chuck had been smelt. it was assumed the man was of the coast, a seafarer not unlike barbatos himself.

you might be surprised,

and yet, draws rusalka. i'll spare you. with an easy grin; holding stubbornly to his stance on the fact that he did not sing.

the question in and of itself is harmless, surely a natural trace of lines given the clues rusalka had given. and yet, it fills the new father and newer husband with a swell of protectiveness. but, sequestering away his growing family behind a fortress of his own making was pointless.

hljodrfell's numbers had dwindled down to the family itself ( for he considers solveig's eldest daughter his daughter as well ) and the crone.

if they were to survive they needed bodies.

not near, but not too far. not intentionally spoken as a riddle, rusalka draws in a breath. for now, we claim a keep a bit north ... but still close to the sea.

he let out a quiet chuckle at the man's resilience, though did not press him to sing any further.

instead they turned a collective focus to the homeland of the leviathan, and barbatos listened with intent as the man explained of his keep. close to the sea, but not directly upon her shores. it sounded similar to what the dryad sought of his own realm. the sea was a fine mistress, but the forest would always be his true love.

"it sounds as if you have a fine home," he complimented, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. he paused for a moment before parting lips to share of his own homeland. "i myself hail from southern shores. it is similar to this," he took a moment to glance around at their scenery, "though a bit warmer," he tacked on with a grin.

the truth was, the keep was noisy. the gyrfalcon's were not the most gracious of hosts and the only attachments rusalka felt to it were his wife and children. he'd come to learn over the past few months that home was where the heart was. it wasn't a place.

so, he is quiet, offering nothing on the 'fine home' comment.

a small noise lingers in the back of rusalka's throat. these lands are colder than many all year 'round. he's come to notice; but he is not particularly bothered by this.

do you plan to stay on the coast? it sounds like a deep question, but it is conversational at best. rusalka'd never been great with small talk and that, though several things have, did not change.