Sea Lion Shores the halls of our fathers

[treasures number one hundred]

Szymon endured Ragna’s teasing with a halfhearted snap of his fangs in her general direction, the relaxed slope of his angular shoulders and neutral set of his tattered ears bespeaking the harmlessness of his good-natured gesture. Despite their initial differences, she had proven to be a genial cohort — he found he liked her company very much — and just like that, the golden-eyed, golden-hearted boy added her to his short list of friends. He was not overly shocked at the fact that she did not wish to join a pack with her siblings; given the choice, Szymon would not have joined forces with any of his, minus Skellige. He merely nodded, one tattered ear fanning toward the south, followed by the tilt of his muzzle, as though he could see from where he stood the place that would house her. “F-Far from here?” he questioned, and one would swear his guttural bass timbre carried a note of wistfulness. Whether it was because he imagined his own plight, a sea wolf far away from his goddess, or because he would miss the female’s company was unbeknownst even to him.

He watched avidly as the blue-eyed girl rose, announcing her intention to hunt again as she made for the rocks. “I have f-f-fished your w-way,” he challenged her boldly. “Will you t-t-try it my way?” He rose, shaking the sand from his fur, and took several steps toward the ocean itself with an inviting glint in his eye.