The Sentinels i was late like thunder; i’m regretting it now

It seemed at last that Szymon had made himself understood; the tension in his body relaxed with a weak shudder as he dropped his muzzle to the earth and looked obliquely up at his green-eyed sister-to-be. He could not dissuade her from doing what came naturally to her, and though he would have liked to spare her the company of the plague wolf, he understood it was an important part of her development as an adult and as a healer. He was sure she didn’t like knowing that Skellige and Szymon had seen — and would see — battle, but she could not stop them from partaking in it. A shrug shifted his shoulders at her question — he had no information on the wolf’s followers — and he contented himself with the knowledge that Aria and Constantine would surely agree with the decision to keep Donnelaith safe, free of pestilence.

Bemused, he did not flinch away as she sniffed at his salt-crusted form, reassuring herself that he had come to no harm. “T-Tetsubō and I drove her away,” he clarified, trying not to sound gleeful or triumphant — but, in truth, that was what he felt. He was an imperfect, occasionally base creature; sometimes the monster won. This time the monster had kicked his golden nature to the curb. He felt a fierce joy in protecting his territory, especially with his brother watching, and felt a great sense of accomplishment now — for he had not been too late, and the jewel of Donnelaith was safe and sound. His devotion to Skellige was paramount, but he thought perhaps Doe would be proud of his ferocity. Deirdre was something else entirely, and he dreaded her rebuke. “We did not lay our teeth upon her,” he hastened to add. No harm had befallen the wolf at the hands of the Blackrock Depths pack, and no harm had befallen Skellige’s warband as a result of the poison she may have carried.

He sighed gustily as her nose brushed his scarred foreleg, fastening his intent gaze upon her lovely visage. The longing she felt, open and bare before him, filled him with a sense of wonder — how was it that such a flower had come to love the black-hearted titan of the sea? A good brother — a good wolf — would have whispered comforting words to the tender-hearted girl, but the Cairn brood rarely spoke of feeling and even less of love, which was an unknown quantity altogether. “We th-thrive. The b-b-blessing of th-the S-S-Sea is upon us,” he intoned quietly. “D-D-Doe — ” his voice was touched with a deeper, more enduring warmth at this single syllable “ — has been very busy.” He was silent a moment, gathering his thoughts with ponderous care. He did not discuss the intruder or the cub that the Sea had returned to them, feeling that if Skellige wanted this information shared, he would do it himself. “And y-y-you, D-D-Deirdre — how are y-y-you and yours?”