Stavanger Bay and the fire with all the strength it hath

She was so weak. Amayo held her breath as the girl knitted her thin, gangly limbs into the fur of her chest, worried that any sudden movement might ruin the delicate web of skin and bone that Quill appeared to be made out of. The Blackrock beta worried, now, about what The Drop might do to her poor child. It seemed unfair to toss her into the Wickedness in such a state - she was hardly a proper offering, either way. Perhaps Skellige would see this, too. But perhaps not.

Finally, though, a breath of the child cause Amayo to quirk an ear. Papa, she said, and like magic, Szymon appeared.

Although she had eaten her fill, the journey she'd undertaken had left her body diminished. The sight of the rabbit awoke hunger in her once more, and she snagged it without a second thought, though she was careful not to jostle the girl that slept against her breast. A growl of thanks was all she spoke to her love until all that remained of the rabbit was its silken pelt - perhaps they could make a gift of it for the child they had obtained.

"She will not survive the Drop," Doe declared, her voice a careful sotto in the dark of the den. "She is not strong enough - the Wickness will claim her if we do it now. Do you think our king could be persuaded to wait, or shall we send this meager offering to our god?"

What Szymon said, she would do. This was not the religion she had been born into, and she did not know what would be best pleasing to the Wickedness she now served. But Szymon would, and that would be that.