Stavanger Bay you know how it is

It seemed that pacing the borders was all that he could do to keep his mind from it, and so he had worked around to his third lap before setting a ghostly white figure in his crosshairs and making his way toward it. Knowing his luck, it would be a long lost sibling and he'd be forced to be genial. Though, as he drew closer, the shape took on a shape of familiarity. Smokestep had run into this brute once upon a time and he recalled the deep, dark of the wood on the evening that he had. Before he had a chance to pass a greeting, she appeared at the edges of the pack as though they were her own. A jealous fire was lit in his gut and Smokestep debated leaving her there; she could tend to the strays who wandered across the edges of the Ironsea territory. Instead, he opted to make himself far more important.

Strolling forward without so much as a glance in the direction of Rosalyn, Smokestep drew his head upward and offered a crooked smile to the blue-eyed male. “Oi, good to see ya again, mate,” he greeted in a loud and jovial tone. His tail flagged only for Dune. If he held it long enough, Smokestep wondered if he could make Roz disappear altogether. It was the knowing that she was there that killed him. Casting her a salty expression from the corner of his eye, he focused his attentions on the visitor. In his hastiness, the pale corsair realized that he had entirely forgotten this wolf's name. “Doom, wasn't it?”