Gilded Bay The Cool Seaspray

The breath of the ocean would always call to the corsair. He would live and die by her waters and find his body swept away in her depths. All of the Cairn children should have hoped for such a death. Though he was young and had much to learn, the ghostly figure knew this and had no remorse or doubt in his mind; the ocean would always be his home.

He kept to the shores as best as he could, keeping an eye out for signs of incoming packs. The green-eyed woman in the wood had been certain that there were others who had expressed interest in founding their own claim. The pirate was eager to see if any of them thought themselves capable enough to stand on the edges of the sea and stake their claim there. Cocksure and turgid, he did not believe that all of them had the capability to withstand her violent wake. Smokestep was eager to see who would try.

Padding along the bay that he did not seek to establish, the pallid wayfarer caught sight of an entirely unfamiliar figure. Letting out a quiet woof to sound his presence, Kingfisher sauntered forward with a surefooted pace to his lengthy limbs.