Stavanger Bay And as you get back into line, a mob jumps to their feet

The pale hound had wandered across the bay for several hours in an attempt to keep himself busy and out of the fire; he’d spent a great deal of time in it with his companions and he had found that he didn’t enjoy verbal berating as much as he had imagined. Sandpiper had been nowhere to be found, and while he worried for his sister, the eldest Cairn knew that she could handle herself well enough. The fire had always burned hot within the golden-pelted girl; no matter her fall, he was still proud of her.
 
Trekking across the chilly sands, his mismatched gaze fixed on a reddish hue and the pirate felt his heart plummet into his gut. Their last conversation had been anything but ideal, and he found himself feeling sick and weak at his knees with the prospect of being confronted by her again. Surely, he couldn’t have allowed her to snap at him so carelessly this time; if she was looking to fight, he would be required to put her in her place.
 
As the corsair neared, he noted that her expression was softer than it had been. The swagger of his steps slowed, and he nodded softly to the red woman. “Roz,” he greeted her in a plain voice. Smokestep awkwardly shuffled his feet in place before he drew his head up and canted it questioningly toward her.