Stavanger Bay Alone and Confused, Infected and Abused.

“N-Not useless,” agreed Szymon with casual malevolence, arriving on the scene from the sea itself, his pallid fur bristling with brine and set into urchin-like spines. “The sh-sharks grow hungry.” Recent events had put the youngest Cairn into a foul mood, and he was far less inclined to greet the strange wolves of these wilds with succor after the tawny trespasser had seen fit to breeze through the territory borders. The inky-ribbed wolf stepped forward, his tail twitching frenetically as his head and tail lifted assertively, befitting his rank. His forelegs were stiff, the crest of his shoulders tensed in easy readiness, as he breathed in the familiar scent of the wolf he’d seen near the sea lions’ shoals and the less familiar scent of the long-legged female whose coloring was similar to Szymon’s own. Golden eyes blazed with auriferous spite as he stared down at the stormy-eyed female, marking the fractured leg and her paltry verbiage. What pack would “consider taking” one so broken?

“Th-Three weeks,” mused Szymon aloud, his deep bass timbre impassive. “You sh-should g-get started on your w-w-way back if you w-want to f-find a pack b-before autumn.” What use did the Blackrock wolves have for a broken creature such as this? It was smarter to turn her away before she dragged whatever enemies she’d made to their borders. Between the Cairn brood and their recent recruits, they had more than enough muscle to guard what was theirs — but that didn’t mean inviting trouble was a good idea. And Szymon, naturally suspicious, didn’t believe her story. It could have been the gospel truth, but for all he knew, she was an ally of Ksenia seeking to infiltrate Skellige’s loyalties. The best he could expect from this violet-eyed creature was fish food at this point, but the word “poisoned” gave him pause. Perhaps she still bore the poison on her fur — her flesh — and perhaps it was intentional, to cause the tongues that laved her sullied flesh to blacken and swell. That was even less incentive for the Cairn boy to take her in.

The blessing was nigh — not one of Skellige’s wolves could be spared.