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

Szymon could appreciate the scourge wolf’s single-minded selfishness. It was something each of the Cairn children possessed — the hunger or thirst for something that drove them obsessively and recklessly forward. That this wolf’s hunger was literal did not matter to the boy. As long as he could be persuaded to associate Skellige with food, Murgash might prove useful to the Blackrock Depths wolves. The ghost of an answering grin, roguish and greedy, tipped the corners of the golden-eyed Cairn’s scarred lips. “P-Prove it,” Szymon said succinctly. “P-P-Perform a task f-for th-the Leviathan, Murgash,” he commanded, jerking his muzzle toward his silent brother, “and if h-he d-d-deems it w-well d-d-done, you w-will be fed of our r-reserves.” Licking his lips, Szymon found himself wondering about the red hand of the brotherhood — but first of all, he felt the wolf should be tested by the Sea as all of Skellige’s warhounds were. Glancing at his brother, for Skellige could confirm or deny the task at will, yet keeping his attention largely trained on Murgash, “Th-There is an island,” Szymon suggested, “off the c-c-coast, n-north of the s-sea lions’ sh-shoals. A s-swim at high t-t-tide is n-n-no easy f-f-feat for m-most wolves.” In that way, Skellige could test the Sea’s offering of this wolf, and Murgash would be baptized in the brine that ran through the Cairns’ veins. At that, Szymon fell silent, allowing his brother to speak in judgment for this fell beast.