The Sentinels the sea alone, with its multiplicity, holds any hope

The questions were causing agitation to rise in his gut and he prayed to the mystics that he might wash it away so that he could speak to the fair girl. She was being nothing but genial to him – as she had always been – and he was meeting her with odd bristling fur and a firm voice. It did not settle well with him that the young Sharkbait was being kept inside of the forest instead of by the sea where she was intended to be. As Deirdre inquired about the blessing, he furrowed his brows at her and nodded with a swift bob of his crown. “Yes, Deirdre. Blessed by the sea,” he echoed. “The blood that you speak of was part of our ceremony. You were to be invited, but with everything that you have been dealing with… I did not think it wise. Perhaps we can have you blessed by the ocean at another time,” he rumbled in a quiet baritone. There was an effort to avoid curling his lip over his yellowed fangs. “The ceremony is an intense experience; but I wish to see Sharkbait. I wish her to know that she is forgiven and that the sea will still give her strength.”
 
At the prospect of the girl staying in the forest, he flattened his ears to his skull and frowned. The wolves of the ocean were not meant to dwell in the woodland. The waters had washed her and baptized her – the sea had returned the golden child to him, not to Donnelaith. Fear would be easily washed from her system if that was all that was holding her back. “I know that you care for her, but she is destined to be in the bay. You may tend to her, yes, and heal her, but I would wish for her to come back home with me,” his voice did not waver.