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

There was a moment – a flash that erupted inside of him – when the wraith nearly lunged forward with fangs bared at the pale healer. He could not help but to feel the burning rage of his own pride as it sunk its vicious fangs into his heart. How dare she speak of the will of the sea! She was a creature of the wood – she did not know the trials that had been placed on him in regards to the swell of the water and the crash of the waves. He had been born to it, and raised within it. Skellige knew the ocean better than he knew any other creature on the planet. He was more at home within the bosom of the depths than anywhere else. She dared to stand before him and speak to him of what he must do in regards to her will! His lip curled slightly as he took a step back, away from her. “You are of the forest, Deirdre. I would not come here and tell you the will of the trees because it would not be my place. I would not insult you by telling you what you must do to obey the will of the wood,” he growled softly, brows furrowed tightly over his dark eyes.
 
It should have been a moment of rejoicing. He should have found himself drawn to her at the news that she would inherit Donnelaith just as she had hoped. It was a sinking feeling that he endured instead. They were to be allies through her reign and his rule, but he did not think that he could have her speak for what he must do… not again. He was a creature of war, and he had done well to tame the wild desire to fight while he was with the pale girl. The leviathan would not be told what to do. He would not listen as she willed him to be patience with the sea’s wishes. It was not her place to tell him.
 
“I would like to see her then,” he finally breathed out, turning his sights toward the dense stretch of trees.