Stavanger Bay Hail, Brother!

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First Jagoda, now Ishild.

The black-masked tactician was a good ally to have, and Szymon greeted her appearance with considerably more excitement than he had Jagoda’s. His long legs snapped into a light jog as he made his way to the territory borders, wild pale fur tousled and crusted with salt. He was a different wolf than the Szymon Ishild had once known, made evident by the new confidence that limned his still-lean but significantly sturdier musculature. Still, the irrational but understandable fear that being around his littermates would force him back down the latter into a position of disgrace quickened the drumming of his heart as he came to a stop about two yards away from the fel-eyed female. He stood quietly, his tail and head lifted proudly, much different from the skulking, avoidant creature he had been. His agitation was not evident by the stoic expression on his face, but it that turned his stuttering tongue to stone and careened haphazardly through his rib cage. From his tight-lipped mouth emerged a low, steady rumble of recognition and greeting — Szymon had always been a wolf of very few words — and a quizzical stare of piercing golden eyes. “Ishild. Coming home?” was what he said, and he breathed a little easier when the words, albeit hesitant, were produced without a stutter. He knew that Skellige had sent Jagoda and Ishild to search for Ksenia, and he also knew that asking about Ishild’s news on that front was none of his business. Skellige would ask for Ishild’s report when the time came; for now, Szymon simply wanted to know whether she would be making her home in the bay.

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