Shadewood the night of long fangs

Leaving Warsaw had not been the ideal situation for the pale Cairn. He had built a warrior of himself in their homeland. He had proven himself to be a master of the sea. By his sister's side, the two had exceeded most any task that they had been presented with. When Skellige had bid them to travel back to the wilds to reclaim the black rock, Smokestep had been struck with a sour, toxic feeling. Of course, he did not dare disobey the inky brute. He had learned better not to challenge the orders that came from their father.

This was their chance; Kingfisher and Sandpiper could lead and this was the test of their capabilities. As cocksure as he was of himself, the pale Cairn was pleased that he had his sister at his side. The quest to reclaim their lands would have been far more difficult on his own. Not impossible, but he feared that he would have made more enemies than friends in his attempts.

The scent of the speckled female wafted through his nostrils. Smokestep craned his skull around to fixate his eyes on her. His leathery lips curled slightly and he heaved a snort as she closed the space between them. The Kingfisher did not need for her to speak to know her request. Turning to face front, he breathed deeply. The fur along his neck and shoulders pricked as he did this.

“I can smell the salt,” he drawled. The Cheshire smirk increased and his lengthy ears rose atop his skull. It seemed that they would be trapped in the trees forever, but the closer he came to the edge of the ocean, the more he could feel his heart thrum.