Greatwater Lake some women are lost in the fire, some women are built from it

Setting aside his dislike for forests and other such inland territories, Szymon doggedly followed the scent of his Chosen One and the fresher scent of his Leviathan to a place he had never been before.  His wound was healing as well as could be expected; he had suffered worse, being a Cairn.  The journey did not trouble him — what did trouble him was the scent of a third unwelcome male, bitter and virile.  Doe’s distress was evident in her shrill cry; Szymon knew of her hunger for mothering, heightened since Sharkbait’s arrival on the Blackrock shores.  If she wanted this cub, as Skellige so evidently approved, she would have it.  Sidling up along his brother’s left side, he lowered his head to protect his throat — silent.  Waiting.  His tail lashed his hocks like a whip as he looked obliquely up at the other wolf with seething golden eyes.  With his body tensed in eager readiness he awaited the inevitable spark that would put the events that would no doubt end in bloodshed in motion.