Stavanger Bay gangnam style

@Arturo ♥ I feel like this post is sort of clunky and I apologize. ;-; The title of this thread was going to be more serious but then I watched this.

Sharing a den with the scrappy little witch doctor was a new and occasionally panic-inducing experience. As the lowest ranking wolf in his natal pack, Szymon had never laid claim to a den — it was safer to steal snatches of slumber when and wherever he could. Here in the bay, however, his scent was everywhere — his daily schedule involved freshening borders and checking caches, gathering obsidian for the ceremony and herbs for Doe. He had grown in muscle mass if not in height, and had developed a sense of confidence and security that had been crushed underfoot on the rocky Warsaw shores and never allowed to grow. He was different here — he was more. That being said, sleeping for prolonged periods and at regular hours was something Szymon didn’t do. The nightmares that gripped him were violent and disturbing — par for the course, Skellige might have said.

It was a nightmare that drove him from the den this evening, and he dared not press a farewell kiss to his Chosen One’s brow, for the beat of blood in her veins was tempting in a way he didn’t dare consider. He would never willingly have hurt his Doe — even in play, he retained a sense of control that he couldn’t risk relinquishing. Reckless abandon was too dangerous; though Szymon was smaller than all of his siblings and softer-hearted besides, he had been trained to rend and tear, slash and devour — and he was very, very good at his job. Licking his scarred lips, the boy stumbled like a drunk into the welcoming arms of the Sea — keeping his eyes open despite the sting of salt, he dove underwater until every sound was muted by Her voice in his ears. The inky-ribbed Cairn fought the current and tested the reserves of his breath; he swam, sometimes floating to conserve his energy, sometimes seeking the greatest velocity he could achieve, for the better part of an hour before letting the cresting waves wash him ashore again.

Exhausted from his endeavors and feeling far better for it, Szymon shook his lean, spare frame vigorously and licked his lips.