Shadewood the night of long fangs

@Sandpiper

The distance from the Teekon Wilds to their true homeland of Warsaw Island was an impressive hike. Smokestep had been young when his father had pulled him from the bay and carried him through the wilderness. The young boy had nearly died. Of course, Skellige had managed to keep both Kingfisher and his sister alive for the entire duration of their trek. He had found women to nurse them, travel with them, and sustain them during the coldest parts of winter. He had taken them back to the islands where he had been banished and had raised them for a year before sending them back to reclaim the depths. Both Smokestep and Sandpiper had been raised the way that all Cairn wolves were intended to be raised: with the hand of war.

Picking his way through the thick wood, the pallid brute craned his neck to see if his sister was still following or to see if she had wandered off to find them prey. A single crimson orb darted between the trees and the pirate inhaled deeply to capture her scent. She was there – somewhere – but not where the ghostly figure could see her brightly speckled coat. The Kingfisher waited beneath the thick canopy. His shoulders hunched against the chilling wind that whistled through the branches.