To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive

[table width=65%][tr][td]

Szymon waited a beat, allowing Jagoda’s query and subsequent accusation — “I have returned, and you know what I want,” — to hang heavily in the air that separated them, bitter and metallic with fresh blood. Scarred lips wrenched back in a warning grimace as the Leviathan spoke: “Bottom-feeder,” he hissed. Jagoda himself had never been a paragon of intelligence, and Szymon was surprised to see that his brutish brother had apparently gained a significant measure of it — but he shouldn’t have been, given his own development, both physical and mental. “You have returned empty-handed. What news of Ksenia? Did you even bother to look?” He spat the words like venom, but he was already weary of the situation as a whole. “The Sea took our brother,” is the vague answer he decided on, “and his firstborn son.” Who else but the Sea Herself could subdue a leviathan? “In Skellige’s name, Doe and I will hold the bay.”

Drawing breath, “If you want to stay here, you will earn your place like every other wolf,” Szymon rumbled, “and you will submit not only to me, but to Doe — your Akhlut.” Throwing back his head, he called for @Doe, uncertain as to how Jagoda’s renewed presence would be received. They could use the dredge’s fangs, especially with the winter coming in so viciously cold. “Make your choice, Jagoda.”

[/td][/tr][/table]