Stavanger Bay everyone, step aside; this is the last warning

Doe’s reaction to his ministrations was fascinating, but Szymon paused to breathe a chuckle against her skin as, “Something with teeth,” the little witch doctor said with staunch vehemence, naming several creatures he had never seen before. The Cairn brood was a pelagic bunch, and the golden-eyed wolf had no reference point to draw from when she spoke of cacti and crocodiles. “Doesn’t matter,” he said when she mentioned she’d only known freshwater before now. “She gave you back — She f-found you worthy.” Doe would receive a maritime creature along with the rest of them; of this, Szymon was utterly sure. If he had been the one to do the choosing, he’d have chosen something little, swift, and fearless — a remora, perhaps, for her close relationship and conciliatory nature when it came to Skellige. They were not beautiful like Szymon’s odd-eared, wide-eyed Chosen One, but Szymon’s unassuming appearance drew a striking discord with his own vibrantly colored spirit guide, as well. Speaking of which —

“Mm,” he murmured, offering tacit affirmation to her question, humming low in his throat as her nose pressed insistently against his collarbone. Doe was an imperious creature and Szymon was eager to give her whatever she wished of him, be it food or hides or horns or simple information. “Some bite,” he said. He hadn’t received a predatory creature like his other siblings — although some turtles were renowned for their powerful jaws, Szymon’s spirit guide was most likely focused on the protection and longevity it offered. No matter how many times he’d been beaten down, the inky-ribbed Cairn had never been content to stay where he had fallen. “My spirit guide is not f-fearsome,” he admitted. “It is strong because it endures. I have faced death many times and won.” His voice was solemn, flowing steadily as it often did when he was fully wrapped and immersed in Doe’s literal and figurative embrace. “When I was y-y-young,” he said, his bass voice hesitating as the lock on his throat fell briefly shut, “I was s-small — smaller than all of my siblings. I needed protection. Turtle gave me that.”

He wasn’t sure why a wolf as vivacious as Doe would have picked someone like him — the doubt that swam sickly in his soul was not so unfounded. He had been the smallest, the youngest, and the weakest for practically all of his young life. Though he was stronger now, he was still the baby and like to be treated as such if he ran into his more brutal siblings again. Stringing together so many words was fairly exhausting, and the thought of being overpowered by one of his siblings where Doe would be able to see dampened his mood. To distract himself, he buried his muzzle in the thick ruff that protected Doe’s throat and rubbed his cheek against hers to immerse himself in her warmth and scent.