Stavanger Bay fancy thinking the beast was something you could hunt and kill

The influx of visitors at his border had been concerning. While the wraith did not rationally believe that they could live there without having their presence requested on the edges of the pack, he had found that the vast majority of the beasts who arrived were pathetic examples of their kind. The great sea wolf was growing worrisome of the type of wolf that thrived in the wilds; perhaps they were all weak and meager. The swarthy brute could not begin to fathom what he would do if another disaster arrived at the edges of his bay. Skellige could not imagine how he could suffer through another unbearable meeting with a creature who didn’t have the decency to arrive in their best state.
 
Trailing water as he exited the waves, the wraith picked his way across the shore and toward the entrance to their pack. His eyes followed the trail that had been left by Szymon, and as he cast his nose toward the wind, he could breathe in the strange herbs that lingered on his youngest brother’s pelt. The boy had been still been spending a great deal of time with the witch doctor.
 
Fixing his russet gaze on the ragged figure of a stranger, the titan found himself bemused. There was a flush of curiosity that soared through him, leaving him to stand with his skull lifted and his eyes trained on the two males. Szymon was wary of the mangy wolf, but Skellige was captivated by him. The strange tufts of fur missing from his pelt and the ragged tassel that hung at his rear – he was an unkempt and freakish sight to behold. Instead of speaking, the leviathan watched from a short distance away.