Stavanger Bay catskills in january

Relief came over her like a thick fog when she was not met with aggression - his teeth brushed her, whispering danger down her spine, but he did not lash out, did not tear or rend. If she had not seen his face a moment before, she might even have thought the touch to be a tender one.

But she had seen his face.

Skellige. The word did not register as a name - not to Mannoah. To the vapid shewolf, it sounded much more like a battle cry. Equally an accusation of weakness and declaration: I dare you. Skellige. The first word she would remember him speaking. The first word of this new tongue she would have to learn.

"Skellige," she repeated, quietly - though it was not spoken against the man, but in favor.

Mannoah was allowed near him, she discovered, and at the same time she discovered that she desired to be near him. Her bones were too weary to want for much - food, clean water, a place to rest - but among those was a desire for the man and his nearness. The overpowering scent of him, blood and salt. Her eyes swam as she held back more coughs, instead inhaling the essence of the larger wolf. An alpha's scent, doubtless, and it made her thirsty. Clean water. Blood and salt.

Mannoah would take what was given.