Stavanger Bay hope that you'll stay

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Szymon listened quietly as Rouge spoke of a pack laying claim to a swath of coastal territory — Skellige’s territory. The eldest Cairn’s way was to wage war — and it was a kneejerk response for Szymon’s hackles to bristle with aggression as he considered it seriously, seeing it as the pack’s foremost course of action. Turning to Doe for her counsel, “We c-cannot limp into war,” he murmured in a disappointed growl, the brief flicker of his stutter revealing his unease. “We are weighed down with cubs.” It was a harsh way of looking at things, but nobody could deny that the Argosy loved his children the only way a Cairn could love. “Donnelaith is a peaceful ally; we cannot count on their fangs.” The pack’s numbers had dwindled — Szymon had written off Tetsubō, Ishild, and Jagoda as wolves Skellige could count on, no matter what the silver-ribbed Leviathan seemed to believe. They were spread too thin to wage war now, and Szymon was unsure of Arturo’s alliance. He liked the coywolf a great deal, but Arturo had dealt primarily with Skellige.

While Doe busied herself with checking over the scout’s general wellbeing, Szymon stewed. “I am not prepared to reason with them,” he told her bluntly. He was no diplomat, and had no love for wolves who had the audacity to settle on Skellige’s coast. Grumpily he tacked on: “yet we are not prepared for battle.” Turning to Rouge, “The message for Deirdre — what was it? What name did she give you?”

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