The Sentinels recurve

The boy made a sound of affirmation - and then he used her birth name, and she knew it must be the truth. Yet, she did not know this boy. Sif had no memories of a pale boy - in her mind, all her siblings had been either dark or ruddy, and this boy was as pristine as snow. His mismatched eyes stood out to her, telling her she should remember, she should have noticed... but there was nothing familiar about him. She must have been young when he disappeared.

"Sif," she corrected. "Naame is Sif." Her spine stiffened, and she wondered what he must see in her. She was big and strong. Injured, but her fur was thick and had a healthy glow about it. Surely she could not be a disappointment. Surely, she was a worthy specimen... in body. "I don't... I don't learn tongue. Speak Northern," she said, feeling self conscious. She did not want to be thought of as unintelligent because of her stunted speech and heavy accent, even though she often felt it.

Her next words were carefully chosen, and she picked through them with all the precision she possessed. "Is he here? Skellige?" Fear and elation warred in her belly.