Stavanger Bay i thought i lost you, my brother

Slight pp to get them to her den. Let me know if I need to change it!

She followed him into the water, eyes still raking over his sodden form. Her gaze, though, was cold and clinical as it memorized the ugly marring of his skin. She had no desire for this male, and she doubted that any of the other females in her pack would, either. It would have to be remedied - for if Skellige had promised this man a woman, he must be someone to be respected, and it would not do to have his bride detesting his very apperance. (She had nothing to say about his personality; she found him discomforting, but wholly agreeable.)

"Follow me. I have some for you to scent," she said with a put-upon sigh; for there was much to do, and perhaps not very much time in which to do it. Mange this bad could take months to heal, but perhaps she could free him of the worst of it before he was given his woman. Would he get to pick, she wondered?

At her den, she ducked inside and took a deep gulp of Szymon-and-Quill scented air, steadying herself with the familiar smell of her little family. The fawnskin rug felt soft under her weathered paws, and she took a moment to lean down and brush her nose against it before turning to her stores. She had plenty of marigolds stored up, but only dried - to be soaked in water and drunk as an infusion. Only fresh marigolds would be of any use to the foreign nobility that'd entered the depths.

Marigolds cradled gently in jaw, she backed out of the narrow opening and let the sun-colored blooms fall to the sand. "A lot of these. Fresh ones," said Atoll, her voice clipped and commanding as she surveyed the male once more. A huffy sigh and tiny nod were the only outward indications of her approval. He might be a handsome fellow with a bit of cleaning up.

Maybe.