Ghost Lion Crag And the rain

Ah, so they shared something of a common ground. The pale hound was surprised by this, but did not think it appropriate that he remark on the particular subject of removal. He had learned more valuable lessons from his father in their absence than he ever believed he could within the wilds. The wild-haired youth had been trained for his moment, and he was not going to disappoint. He wondered for a fleeting moment if this woman had endured much of the same heartache when she had been pulled from her birth home. The pale brute also wondered if she planned on returning herself, or if she had accepted her fate and resigned to rebuilding somewhere else.

A question struck his ears and the corsair turned his skull to her sharply. “On the bay,” he answered swiftly, surely. “Beside the edges o' the burned wood.” Though the sentinels were a desolate wasteland, there would come a time when the foliage would return and it would find its lush life from the earth below. Until then, Smokestep imagined that it would stand as a silent, decrepit guardian over the Ironsea crew.

“An where is it yer from, lass? Where do ye wish to relay this information?” he inquired after a moment. The hound wished to know where she would be taking the information.