Stavanger Bay shot me out of the sky, you're my kryptonite

Even had Szymon not been plagued with the debilitating stutter that so embarrassed him in the presence of others, he was here mainly to offer silent support and provide whatever was necessary — an extra set of jaws should the meeting go awry, a pair of listening ears to bear witness at the very least. The alliance seemed logical to the youngest Cairn — the Donnelaith wolves, while not precisely weak, were not fashioned of war and honed in battle; they would not be able to deny the Leviathan’s claim on the bay without seeking the aid of a lesser pack to do exactly what Skellige’s warband intended in the first place. Too, there was much to be learned from either territory. The Donnelaith methods of healing were different than the ones to which Szymon was accustomed; Warsaw was different. And had they been taught the bounty that lay just beside them and raised seaside as the Cairns had been, these forest wolves would have remained fat and rich with muscle despite the famine. Whether or not this “Aria January” would see to reason, Szymon wanted to keep faith in Constantine that any relation of Deirdre’s would see the merit of such an alliance. Tenuous in its beginning stages, it held promise for a long lived and fruitful relationship between the neighboring packs.