Stavanger Bay take care, they said

The great towering brute had caught the scent of the stranger on the borders of the bay and had found himself drawn toward it with a hesitance that had not touched him before. This wolf was not alone; they carried the scent of another pack on their coat, which brought the leviathan into a defensive state. His inky coat shimmered with the water as he emerged and loped steady toward the wolf on the edges of the bay. As he neared, the familiar scent of Doe wafted through his inky nose and the silver-ribbed brute breathed a sigh of relief that she would be the one to catch the wolf on their corners. Skellige’s dark gaze roamed toward them and he blinked in surprise at the figure who stood beyond; a pale brute with coal smatterings along the ivory of his fur. As the wraith drew nearer, he began to see the deep blue of the male’s gaze. The witch doctor’s voice had not yet touched the air out of inquiry, and this troubled the looming shadow.
 
Closing the space on the two wolves, he lifted his head upward and held it level with the man on the other side. The deep russet of his vision roamed the stranger’s features and he breathed a short huff. “What brings you to the edges of the bay?” the leviathan asked softly. The timbre of his voice struck the air firmly and lingered there a moment longer than it should have. His coat still dripped from the sea where he had been hard at work preparing for his pack. Still, he could not help but to remain curious at this wolf.