Gyrfalcon's Keep break you down and swallow you up

Szymon’s inexperience with mountain goats was probably glaringly obvious to the Moonspear wolf, but the golden-eyed boy felt no shame — he was a Cairn, specifically designed to conquer the rocky shoals, blessed by the Sea. Gaining experience in this way was useful for training his body, and the taste of the warm blooded mammals was truly sweet, but Szymon valued the hunt itself more than the outcome. He watched as Charon made his attacks closer to the front of the goat, cataloging the way the dappled wolf kept out of reach of the animal’s hind legs lest he be kicked or gored, and jumped neatly away as Charon was thrown. Sulphureous eyes fixed upon Charon, ensuring that the mountain wolf was relatively uninjured, and Szymon answered his bloody, blue-eyed smile with a roguish half-grin of his own. Panting raggedly, “You h-hunt th-these often?” questioned the youngest Cairn. He stepped back as he’d done with Grayday, content to let the other male take what he would — there was just one thing.

It was likely to earn him the same odd look Grayday had fixed him with, but Szymon pulled a slow, measured breath into his lungs and popped the possibly presumptuous, certainly strange request: “I w-want its h-head,” he said simply. There was little usable meat on it, but perhaps that would work in his favor. Skellige, he thought, would appreciate that his littlest brother was not quite as squishy as he was back in Warsaw. When the flesh and hide fell away from the skull, leaving the inky horns in sharp relief, it would make an impressive decoration for the sea king’s den. The creatures of the sea were formidable but not quite so visually striking in death.