The Sentinels recurve

Permission granted!

The sea gave no answers, and only echoed back the dark girl's sentiments. The churning body of water had a way of magnifying anything on Sif's mind, to the point where even small emotions became deep and all-encompassing. Fen hadn't liked that. He hadn't liked her to go near the shores at all, but the old man had known better than to try and stop her.

It seemed that here, on her ancestral shores, this amplifying quality was all the more intense. Her stomach roiled with longing, ached with regrets, churned with bitterness. And in her heart, there was a sharper pain - hope. The girl was wrapped up in herself, so focused on the sea and on herself that she did not realize another had approached until he let out a quiet chuff.

Sif whirled into motion, all bristling fur and warning teeth. Even when she saw that the boy was not aggressive, she bristled, possessive of the place of her birth. And there he went talking of cairns, like the one she'd made for Fen. Are you a grave or a girl? he asked (or she thought he asked), and to that, the girl had no answer. Was he making fun of her?

"Do not mock," she growled, circling around the other so that she no longer had her back to the cliffs. She wanted the boy to go away - but until her wounds healed from her last fight, she wasn't very keen on starting another. Strong and robust though she was, the wound on her neck made it difficult to maneuver.