Stavanger Bay maybe they'll keep this snarling heart contained

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There was something pleasing about the way this Ravus stood, intelligent eyes befittingly blank — they were a study in potential energy, waiting to be kindled into flames by Skellige’s spark. “I am the lead angler of the Depths,” Szymon said. It was not a title that had officially been given to him, but few wolves knew how to fish as the Cairns did; and of the Eight — for Marbas, too, was a Cairn — only Skellige and Szymon presently resided in the bay. Catching Doe’s eye with the flicker of a roguish smile that caused a pleased twitching of his tail, he read her approval and dipped his muzzle in a short nod. If Doe wanted this wolf, Szymon would abide by her decision; but beyond that, he liked Ravus — as much as Szymon Cairn liked anyone. “I have ch-children, and our Leviathan Skellige will soon have children of his own — fresh meat is always n-needed.” He considered his options, then decided on a fitting mission for the former Commander of the Hunt: “You will travel with me to the t-taiga to hunt large game. You are a warhound now, Ravus, and you will meet our Leviathan when he ch-chooses. Now — with Doe and me, set your call upon the wind.” Throwing back his head, Szymon howled to the pack, proclaiming Ravus’ status as a new member of the Blackrock Depths.

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