The Sentinels recurve

In a snap, the she-wolf curled her lip in a growl and pulled herself away from the edge of the cliff with a wariness. There was a sharp glint to her eyes that rang with the familiarity of the old sea salt himself. A curling smirk brought the corners of the boy's lips upward. He closed his crimson eye and peered at her through a ghostly silver orb. The marauder's head was canted just slightly to the left as he looked over the unfamiliar female. He wondered if she had misheard him for a moment, as her response seemed an odd one. The ghost lowered his head a bit and took a few steps forward.

“Aye, well sink me, then,” he jeered at her with a flash of yellowed canines. “It was just a question, lass. You've got the Cairn markings on your ribs, haven't ye?”

Prowling forward, he sniffed deeply to pull her scent, but she smelled nothing like someone who was devoted to the sea. His eyelid opened and he allowed his gaze to wander over her lackadaisically. The cocky smirk having made a permanent home on his dark lips. He wasn't quite sure why he would receive such a harsh welcome from such a fine miss, but he was more than positive that she shared his blood. He'd never seen the markings on another wolf outside their family line.

Back to the cliff, Smokestep watched the girl, waiting for signs of a tell. His tail swung loosely behind him. The wind tugged at the ragged quills of hair that stood along his neck and shoulders. The marauder was definitely intrigued by this russet female. Her eyes shone like Skellige's. She must have been one of them.