Stavanger Bay catskills in january

Skellige…
 
Her voice struck him in a peculiar way. He drew the length of his dark ears forward and lifted his tail upward – it was a gesture to show her that she had done well. It was still evident that she had no idea what his name meant or why he had instructed that she use the word. Nevertheless, he was keen on teaching her that it was the only important thing she should know. In that moment, he did not fear that she would escape the depths. The cool touch of the water had pulled her under.
 
Swiveling a single ear toward the crashing of the waves, the wraith frowned at the female. There was no suitable rank for her – nothing other than the Jetsam. He did not care to hear her own name, but then he did not imagine that she would attempt to share it. Instead of offering one for her, he suspected he would call her by the rank that she would occupy. She would be the lowest of their kind.
 
“Come,” he instructed with a gesture of his crown. It was time to show her the perimeters – she needed to know where her limbs would not be permitted to cross.
 
The leviathan did not imagine that he would allow her to have her own den. She would remain in the caves that he called his own. There were enough caverns there that would allow for moderate privacy if she should need it. He did not imagine that there would be a reason for her to request her own living quarters. The female could hardly speak, he realized, but her lack of a common tongue would be a relief to him. Skellige had grown so very tired of words.