Stavanger Bay you can call me monster

@Skellige ♡ Post is vague because much is unknown!

Post is crappy because, well. You know why. x__x;

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Find Skellige.

Purely by chance, Szymon had chosen to go right instead of left upon leaving the idyllic plateau, and as his paws touched down on sand for the first time in far too long, a hiccupping sob broke from his jaws. Home. Blunt claws dug into the coarse grains like the ravaged back of a lover as Szymon dipped his muzzle to rub his cheek compulsively against the stuff, squinting sulphereous eyes to keep any of the rough granules from abrading his precious corneas. Getting shakily to his paws, the youngest Cairn boy surveyed his surroundings with frank curiosity. A measure of tension left him at the close proximity to the ocean. Despite his neuroses, Szymon had been as proficiently trained as any of his siblings and was a formidable force to be reckoned with — on land, of course, but especially underwater. The bay he’d found was embraced between two sentinel stone cliffs, but more importantly, it carried the scent Szymon had been trailing with only marginal success for the past few weeks.

Skellige had been here — Skellige had been here recently —

“S-S-S-S — ”

Skellige? I’m lost. I’m lost.

The sibilant syllable snaked its way from Szymon’s quivering lips as the twitching of his tail reached fever pitch. Triumph and terror swam within him in equal parts — he dared not howl for his brother, not so close to claimed territory and certainly not where Ksenia might hear. It was no secret that the golden child’s devotion was to the swarthy wraith who was his inverse — turning his head to preen at the inky rib cage markings that spanned his thin sides, Szymon reassured himself with the knowledge that Skellige needed him. He did. He had to. If Skellige didn’t want Szymon…

Trembling violently, his teeth chattering as his eyes rolled, Szymon forcibly shook himself out of the fit before it could fully grip him and twist him into the ghastly incarnation of shame. He wouldn’t even think of it. Skellige loved him — more than any of Szymon’s other siblings, Skellige seemed to have a soft spot for the fragile boy. Make yourself useful, Szymon chided himself, pulling himself out of his pessimistic funk by beginning to comb the area for clues. If Skellige wasn’t here anymore, the scent of him was still so recent that Szymon would be able to locate him. Of this, the ghostly white wolf was sure.

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