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The pale female inquired about the traditions that Skellige had carried from their homelands, and he narrowed his brows on her, wondering if she was merely digging for information to carry back with her. The rituals and culture of the Warsaw wolves were deeply coveted and his only reason for humoring her inquiry was that she had been raised with them just as he had. “Most of them,” was his quick response, though he was willing to elaborate somewhat. “The drop, the blessings, the ritual of the guides. We will do well to honor the ceremonies of our home,” he spoke in a level tone, but there was an inkling of pride in the rumble of his voice. The leviathan was tied very closely to the way they had been taught.
 
But it did not do well to simply offer her any information that she requested. He was still wary of her intentions, and though she spoke with a strangely genuine tone, the titan was not convinced. The cold frown still lingered on his lips as the wraith drew his coral-colored tongue across his muzzle and swiveled a single ear atop his crown. The waves lapped at the shoreline and he felt himself calming to the quiet ambience. Just then, a though struck him and he realized it would be his only way of trusting her. “Prove yourself to me, Keto. Go into the waters and retrieve a string of kelp for me; the longest you can find,” he demanded of her, gesturing with the length of his inky muzzle toward the waters.