Sea Lion Shores smite him with the edge of the sword

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There was a degree of ragdoll charm about the character who stood before him on shaky limbs. Some form of innocence that had not been experienced by the hulking shadow of the waves. Perhaps it was the joy of the water that he felt radiating from the youthful young man. Once, Skellige had felt that joy too; he had longed for the touch of the water and the saline stench of the ocean winds. It was strange for him to think of that emotion and to realize that it had been replaced by something far more detrimental to his being. He was no longer overcome by joy when he found himself in the depths – that innate happiness had been removed and followed by a peculiar possession. It was this that the boy noted with his keen eye. Skellige stood as though he had claimed the entire stretch of water for his own. But for him, this was a reality.
 
Watching with a careful cock of his brow, the leviathan followed the movements of the wispy lad, though his expression did not change. There seemed to be a wariness about the other, but a sharp interest that had urged him forward. He was small in stature and composed of dusty browns and creams; all colors sat upon a ragged and tousled coat that pricked with the salt of the water. Of course, he was wetted by the touch of the waves, but Skellige found himself curious as to why the stranger sought to drown himself in the lapping of the sea.
 
“She’s tricky,” he remarked in a guttural growl, gesturing toward the tossing and churning waters with a motion of his muzzle.

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