Stavanger Bay at tara in this fateful hour

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The female did not recoil from him, her eyes roving over his body and face with what Szymon considered a rather pleased expression; he would never have been able to read her thoughts, and could not link her warm appraisal as being a result of his appearance, but he understood that she had accepted him. A low rumble of gratitude crooned from his scarred lips as his frame relaxed slightly, but he was befuddled anew by her candor. She…liked him? Unaccustomed to being complimented so baldly — or being complimented at all — Szymon blinked in surprise as his tall ears fanned back against his skull and thrust forward again. Perhaps he had heard incorrectly, or perhaps she was still disoriented from being bowled over by the surf. She introduced herself again, giving a second name — or was it a title? — this time around, and Szymon felt this confirmed his suspicions that she’d been knocked around which must have rattled her marbles.

Still, being liked by her, whether by accident or in earnest, was something he selfishly hoarded away in the deepest recesses of his heart.

Her tail began to whip about like a live thing, and Szymon regarded her with a quirk of his lips that revealed another half-grin — but when she bounded away, spinning like a top in midair, he felt his lean frame jerk forward in involuntary protest. Don’t go! Fortunately the little Witch Doctor paused only a short distance away, her forelegs beating a muted tattoo on the sand as she bowed to him in play. His body longed to remember what his mind had been forced to forget — the games of Szymon’s childhood normally ended in him being bloody or bruised in some way. They were tests more than games, and far from harmless. Whoa, he thought to himself, as dizzy as Doe had been when first encountered with the heavy hand of the sea.

Doe? I don’t — I don’t know how, he stammered desperately, his thoughts flitting uneasily through his mind. Tentatively, moving his legs as though they were made of wood instead of flesh and bone, he dipped into a hesitant bow of his own. Is this what I’m supposed to do? The loll of her tongue and bright expression in her eyes begged him to chase her. He searched his mind for what to do next. Had the roles been reversed and had Doe been Jaglon, the chase would inevitably end in Szymon getting away or getting the sod kicked out of him. He wouldn’t kick the sod out of Doe; he wouldn’t hurt her. Right? Szymon thought to himself, unable to fully trust that he could reverse what was first nature for the Cairn brood.

He wouldn’t know until he tried, though. Testing her, Szymon took a teasing step forward, lowering his body to the ground to pounce.

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