Stavanger Bay the Cairn Kiln

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Szymon brought up the rear of the small gathering, determined that this time would be different — specifically, he would make sure Doe stayed on the ledge as she was meant to by any means necessary.  Agitation and worry wrenched his thornridden heart as memories of his first daughter — his foundling, child of his heart — began to surface.  He had searched for Qilaq with no luck and her scent had begun to grow stale and weak.  It was the young father’s way to look for blame in times of strife, and he placed the whole of it on young Rannoch.  The grayscale deserter had been a promising warhound and of particular interest to Skellige, and despite the threat he had posed to Szymon and Doe’s cubs, Szymon had begun to train him in the Cairn way of life.  To be repaid in such a way was insulting and, in Szymon’s critical eyes, unforgivable.  Perhaps Rannoch had been a spy for Ksenia, gleaning information to carry back to her — paranoid suspicion was Szymon’s lot as much as it was Skellige’s.  At the heart of it, though, Rannoch’s abandonment of Qilaq was the reason behind Szymon’s simmering fury.  If the turquoise-eyed wolf ever returned, Szymon would exact his punishment with relentless force and fangs that lusted for sweet crimson vengeance, for in leaving without a word, Rannoch had stolen something that belonged to the black-banded patriarch: Qilaq’s happiness, and ultimately, Qilaq herself.

These thoughts were pushed forcibly aside as Szymon rearranged the disgruntled set of his mouth into something familiar: pride.  Today his cubs, blood of his blood and flesh of his flesh, would be tested against the Sea.  Weaving his way carefully to stand alongside his mate for his own sanity as much as hers, he nibbled softly at her cheek and then turned to his brood: Julep, Isengrim, and Whiskey.  He kept a watchful eye for the newest acquisition and her keeper, but truth be told, Szymon found himself most drawn to his immediate family.  A desire to have them be fierce and worthy of honor in his brother’s eyes eclipsed what he felt for the new cub — who, if Szymon went by the current track record, would eventually leave as Sharkbait and Rannoch had.  Szymon, despite his fanatic loyalty and blind devotion, had never really commanded the respect of the Leviathan or his subordinates in a way that satisfied his Cairn greed.  His children, he was determined, would become what he sometimes felt he never could: worthy of Skellige’s praise.

A low growl rippled from the Argosy’s throat as he bent his head to his children, roughly grooming his son and daughters to bolster their strength and warm them, being careful not to prematurely chuck them from the high cliff.

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