Stavanger Bay maybe they'll keep this snarling heart contained

Tori! ♥

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Once his children were finally sleeping deeply enough that Szymon could be moderately certain of their safety — they were Cairn children, lit from within by a fiery tenacity; no wolf could ever be certain that they would do as they were expected to or told — the black-banded Cairn left the den, stretching his legs, shaking sand and feathers and wool from his fur. A resounding cry struck the air, drawing his attention with an attentive swivel of tattered ears, and he splashed through the shallow, lapping waves at the shoreline as he made his way to the ring of blessed blackrock that bordered the bay. Doe’s scent, growing stronger by the moment, thickened by the metallic scent of her sacrifice, put a snap in his step and a hard light in his golden eyes. He was simultaneously agitated and relaxed by the sight of her: all rust and smoke and long, slim lines.

The stranger, like everything else in Szymon’s world, took second place to Doe on the angler’s ever-shifting ladder of interest — and when the salt-white beta’s eyes first fell upon the thick, heavy musculature beneath a pelt of stormsteel, his mind wanted to see Rannoch. Those fiery eyes, though, and that unique pattern of cream and champagne, prevented Szymon from making a social blunder of epic proportions. He was content to let Doe do the talking, his lean framework easing into a stiff-legged walk as he neared the twain. The warband’s ranks were nearly full to bursting, but winter was just beginning to set her teeth upon the woves — it never hurt to have an extra set of fangs, and this wolf looked capable and healthy. Out of habit, the Argosy paused a few meters behind his wife, but the realization that his actions did not befit his rank caused him to ghost forward until he stood even with her. Tipping his scarred muzzle to the side, he nibbled affectionately at her shoulder, offering a guttural chuff to the wayfaring hunter. There was a hungry, brooding look about the wolf that Szymon approved of — he would make a fine dredge.

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