Sea Lion Shores the halls of our fathers

Szymon’s hackles bristled automatically as Ragna approached him, but he allowed the female to draw near, sniffing at his flank to capture the pack scent of the Blackrock warhounds. It gave him an equal opportunity to take in and catalogue her scent, their nearness allowing him to breathe the spice of her through the overarching odor of brine. He listened and watched as she responded to his query, and his golden eyes briefly widened in surprise before they half-closed with acceptance. Some of the Cairns’ enemies had worshipped gods of their own, and perhaps some had even followed the will of the Sea even as the Cairns themselves did, but Szymon had never gotten into a lengthy discussion with them about anything, let alone religion. Though he felt a pang of regret that Ragna was not blessed as he was, he had no reason to condemn her for her choices. He simply could not understand believing something different than the rest of her family, being from a very pious family himself.

Again surprised by her words, he turned to her with a keen expression. “Y-You sh-should not b-b-be alone,” he chided her, but his words, gruff as they were, were well-intended. He disliked the idea of the female roaming around without a pack or a god to guide and strengthen her steps. “Have you s-s-siblings?” he asked of her. “Allies?” Though he could not say in good conscience that he cared about Ragna on a personal level, Szymon desired the reassurance that she had somebody in her life. Being separated from Skellige and the Sea had nearly driven the black-banded boy mad — and unbeknownst to him, a similar scenario had nearly achieved the same with his Chosen One — and he did not wish to see Ragna devoid of her plucky temperament, avid intelligence, and general good sense.