Ghost Lion Crag And the rain

The name of her pack was not familiar to him – through personal experience or through stories from his father – so the pallid creature nodded his head a bit and tucked Moonspear in the back of his mind for a later time. Though he had not entirely intended to follow the steps of his father, Skellige had told the boy that forging alliances was the wisest decision he had made when ruling the bay. Now, Smokestep respected his father but he was a young pirate and a renegade of a hound. He believed only in the prospects of his crew and their worth. With this, he would hold fast to the mountain pack that she had spoken of and would perhaps pay her a visit at a later time. She was a fine woman, after all.

Another inquiry fell from her lips and the seafaring brute swiveled his ears to meet it. She requested his name. A smile curved the corners of his lips and the young hound bowed his torso in a dramatic fashion before returning his gaze to her own. “Me name's Smokestep. An' yerself?”