Stavanger Bay you can call me monster

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It was the bay that spoke to him more than any other territory. He had thought perhaps that trailing down the coast to explore the land that was located further from Deirdre would have been for the best. The wraith knew that war was commonplace when packs were founded so close to each other. Though he was callous and savage, the beast did not want to find himself having to close his fangs around the pearl’s throat. She had aided him when he was stranded on the shores, and she had returned to him to learn the ways of the water. In return, he had saved her from the attacker on the sands, and had laid with her through the night until she found the strength to stand again. War was vicious and cruel, and he did not want to impose it on her.
 
The inky figure had remained on the bay, for the most part; the seclusion of it was most appealing to the inky brute. Skellige could not help but to revert back to the ways of the Warsaw wolves. In his search, he knew that he would hope to find a place that would not easily be taken advantage of. His soul could not stand to be apart from the waters, and he knew that if he were to teach children and newcomers the way of the swell, they could not do that unless their lands were on the shoreline itself. The bay provided both of these things. Perhaps, too, in some part of his soul, he enjoyed being so close to Donnelaith. If he should attempt to pursue it, the pearl of a woman would be right beside him.
 
Lengthy dark legs carried the brute inward from the waters; he had taken the time to strengthen the muscles in his body by swimming against the crash of the waves. It had been quite some time since the wraith had found himself struggling against the tug and pull of the sea, but it brought him a strange and serene happiness that could not be rivaled by anything that the land had to offer him. Once his paws struck the land, he slipped to the shore and shook his soaked pelt free of the clinging ocean water.
 
A scent struck his nares, and the dark creature turned his skull in the direction that the wind carried it. He must have been imagining the aroma… it was not possible.
 
There, in the distance, there was a pale figure. The wraith found his breath caught in his throat and he narrowed his gaze on the body that seemed to stretch so far ahead of him. His heart thrummed in his chest like the beating of a war drum, and he drew his ears forward… almost as if he could catch the fluttering stammer of words that would fall from the pale creature’s mouth. He could not truly believe it until he had found himself beside the young boy.
 
Without hesitation, the brute’s paws struck the sand and kicked the granules upwards behind him. His pace was rapid as he loped along the water’s edge towards the distant shape. Ishild and Ksenia had already made themselves known to him, but he never would have thought that the youngest Cairn would seek the wilds and leave the islands behind. Still, as he beat his way towards the pale body, his dark eyes were alight with curiosity. Skellige could not calm the pounding of his heart inside of his chest, and just as he neared the form of Szymon, he thought it might erupt. The inky marking along the young man’s ribs was his confirmation. Ragged breathing fell from his dark leathery lips and he hung his head towards the earth, ears drawn forward.
 
“Brother,” he whispered quietly. His dark eyes had never truly spoken of love; not until that moment.
 

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