Stavanger Bay and the earth with its starkness

The flagging of her tail was drawn to a halt as she turned and caught sight of him. The wraith did not change his expression upon seeing her. It seemed as though she was not as pleased to see him as she would have been to see the paler version of him. Still, he held her gaze with his own burning russet optics until she spoke to him. There was honesty there, that she had been calling for Szymon, and he did not bother to press that any further. It was not until she continued her speech that he found himself relaxing more. He could not doubt her; if the sea king began to doubt the one creature who could communicate with the mystics, he would be forsaking his culture. Instead, he gazed at her with an expectant stare and lifted his skull so that he would loom over her figure. There was a reason he was considered a titan in his home, and it was not because of his silent nature.
 
The fur along his neck and shoulders bristled slightly, but he made work of peering around at the things that she had used to decorate her den. The scents that wafted through his nostrils were familiar but also foreign to him; he had breathed them in before, but had never known their true use. Locking his vision on the assortment one last time, he pulled his gaze away from those things and locked his eyes once more on her face. “I am here now… so tell me,” he probed with raised brows. There was an expectancy there, on his features, and he would not depart until she had revealed these things to him.