Stavanger Bay Forget what we're told

Bold was an understatement for the inky titan; he was – perhaps foolishly – fearless. The call that sounded overhead was a beckoning to the borders and the broad-shouldered brute found himself curious to the sound. The leviathan had formed the pack with a set few members, and since then he had not heard the cry of a potential joiner on the edges of his bay. It would be a first, unless the beast was merely looking for answers to questions that he was not likely to give. Skellige kicked up sand from behind him and set off at a steady lope in the direction of the summons. The stretching of his limbs felt good against the sun that beat down on the pale shore. He had spent a great deal of his time in the waters in preparation for their blessing that was to come; he wanted to the sea to know that he was devoted to her… so devoted that he had thrown the child to her without question. The titan had always belonged to the swell and he needed her to know this.
 
Closing the distance on the borders, the dark brute caught sight of a pale figure that he had thought to be his sister at first. Her call had been foreign to him, though, and he did not imagine that Ksenia would have simply waited for him on the borders; she would have marched into the bay without any proper warning at all. To know that this was not his sibling was something of a relief, but he felt the same of all pale wolves who appeared before him. Skellige knew that it would not be long before Ksenia found his home and she would not be pleased that he had succeeded in raising a pack. The titan was crafted for war, but he fretted over what terrible curse his sister would bring to his lands.
 
Lifting his skull upward and peering at the woman with dark russet eyes, the leviathan roamed her figure with a glance before fixing his stare on her face. “What brings you to my borders?” the wraith inquired in a slithering baritone.