Stavanger Bay Laughing Place

The titan had grown used to the strange calls that were associated to certain wolves within the pack. He had known when the witch doctor was searching for him. If the leviathan was in earshot of her, he did well enough about closing the space between them and answering her call. On that particular day, he had nearly missed the voice of his Atoll. So much had weighed heavily on his mind with the addition of two pups to their ranks that he had found himself wandering in something of a blind trance. Everything outside of his mind had faded away until it was unimportant to him.
 
He should have been pleased. The blessing on their lands had been successful and had granted them everything they needed to endure a lifetime there. Everything had gone well, save for the appearance of the wary Sharkbait. She had not been eager to partake in the rituals that the pack had to offer her, and she had missed out on the ceremony along with the receiving of a spirit guide. The memory of her departure from the scene had bothered him, and continued to bother him in spite of the fact that she was nestled in his den. Skellige could not understand why the sea would have baptized her and returned her if she were only going to abandon everything in store. It was blasphemy.
 
The chirp caused his ear to swivel sideways and he craned his neck around until his gaze caught sight of the witch doctor. Skellige’s head was in a fog, but he stepped toward her with a few short strides and drew the length of his ears forward. “What is it, Doe?” he inquired gruffly.