The Sentinels recurve

Something about what he said seemed to click with the dark female. He watched with a squinted expression, as her face changed through five stages of grief. His crooked smirk did not disappear. As each twitch of her features passed, the seafarer took another step closer. A smarter creature would have turned to provide some space. He cared very little for the disbelief that she may have been feeling. Kingfisher was more interested in how strong she was. He would need to test the very boundaries she would have built if he could have. First impressions were important, though. He didn't want to blow anything before it had a chance to truly begin.

The first thing she uttered was nonsense to him. His ears stiffened and stood alert. His eyes narrowed further on her face, boring into the muddy crimson of her gaze. She then seemed to gather some sense enough to ask him if he was the son of Skellige. Smokestep almost laughed, which would have been a cause of great offense. He wasn't fond of stupid questions, but he felt obligated to humor this one.

“Aye,” he drawled callously. “And ye must be Moorhen.”

For Skellige had not sent him or his sister without a clear set plan. They were to find their siblings and return them to the sea. Moorhen was said to be easiest; she was the only one who had inherited the rib markings of the Cairn bloodline. The boy did not believe he could have mistaken those eyes for having belonged to another soul. The child was one of Skellige. He wondered if it would have been wiser to have Sandpiper attempt to corral Moorhen. She was sharp, and sometimes she could clean up the messes that he created. He was not sure the curt female would have been ideal in his situation, though. He continued to take a few steps forward – carefully.

“I'm Kingfisher Cairn, lass. It's a pleasure to meet ye.”