The Sentinels recurve

The girl – his sister – spewed reasoning behind why she had abandoned her given name and taken on the identity of Sif. He listened with a cold expression on his pale face. His long ears were pulled forward to capture every word that passed through her lips. He needed to know why she felt it was necessary to abandon who she was and to take on a different life. Moorhen had been destined for the sea. She had been born by the shores and she was intended to die by the shores. In spite of her sad childhood, Kingfisher could not forgive what had occurred. His brows narrowed on his forehead and he turned to look away from her. Gritting his teeth together, the pirate listened to the sound of the waters as they beat against the earth.

“Ye aren't a child anymore,” he growled softly. His heterochromatic gaze fell on her once more, harder than it had been before. “And ye surely can say more for yerself,” the pirate snipped. She would take some work to return to the glory of a Cairn. If she wished to shed the family name, he would quickly dispel her from the waterside and cast her from his mind. The seafarer had a feeling that she had been drawn back to the cliffs edge because of something instinctual inside of her. The water had beckoned and Moorhen had no choice but to answer.

Frowning at her question, the boy shook his head in response. “No. We – meself and Sandpiper – we've been travelin' together to get back home. To reclaim our home,” he answered finally with a confident nod of his crown. Smokestep had traveled a long way to return to the bay and he would not fail in his quest to reign over it once more. Surely, Moorhen would feel the same way about their home; she should want to return as much as any of them. The pale brute had his doubts about the dark-furred woman. Frowning thoughtfully, the boy cocked a single brow at her and nodded once. “What of Doe and Szymon?” For if Isengrim was there, surely his parents would be.