Stavanger Bay we are all just stars that have people names

The wraith had brooded in the days that had followed without the pale girl there to tend to his wounds. She had informed him that it would be no more than two moons, but when she had not arrived on the intended date, he found himself unnaturally agitated. For the frightening Warsaw wolf, he did not feel it wise to give word without the intention of following through with it. He was selfish and crude; no thoughts were given in the sense that she very well could have been injured or things could have taken a turn for the worst with the lack of prey. He had managed well enough on his own, therefore he had assumed she would as well.
 
When her call struck his ears, the inky titan turned his skull in the direction it originated from and he frowned heavily. He had long since stripped the seaweed from his own body and the wound was healing nicely. It would scar but the thick hair of his pelt would have grown over it.
 
In his pause, the eldest Cairn thought not to arrive to her. He had told the green-eyed woman that he was to teach her how to fish like the wolves of his islands, but had she not told him that she would return sooner? If he were to turn away from his word, he would be doing to her what she had done. As sour as he was, the silver-ribbed feral took off along the beach in a strong sprint. His legs felt the need to be stretched and worked, and when his dark eyes found the white fur of his companion, he scowled.
 
“You are late,” Skellige growled in a guttural tone.