Stavanger Bay myself and the powers of darkness

Warmth flooded the little woman at her king's praise. It soothed the sting of guilt and ache of loneliness in her breast, and bolstered her enough to ask the question that burned on her tongue. First, though, she pondered the meaning of his sudden request - or offer, perhaps, for his tone held something more than a command.

Atoll, she mouthed, testing the unknown word on her tongue before looking up at her master. "I am your vessel," she said with certainty, knowing that she would take on this role with the same fortitude she'd used to carry the title of witch doctor. "Tell me what it is to be Atoll; I will do my best to please you."

In her chest, the woman's heartbeat quickened, and a dim sense of excitment began to bloom. Atoll, she thought, still mulling it over. Something about it held promise, seemed right. As though she'd always known the word, even if she hadn't heard it before this day. Atoll. Atoll. A position; one she'd earned. She'd shown great promise, he'd said. Had pleased him with all that she accomplished.

Something deep inside the wolf began to bloom.

When is this even dated? Present day or back when we started?