Ghost Lion Crag And the rain

In most scenarios, the pirate Captain was an eager fellow who enjoyed the sound of his own voice far more than that of his companions. When Wraen spoke, her knowledge of the stories that had been passed down was welcome. Smokestep had never known some of the things she shared, and whether or not he was fond of any story-conjured creature, he was intrigued by the means in which they had come to exist. The green-eyed woman had a tone that suggested she was well versed in the history of myths and legends. Smokestep knew that he would have found a great deal of sadness once she opted to part from him and Sandpiper.
 
“Say, that could be wot life’s all ‘bout, eh?” he muttered softly. For once, his expression took on a somber note and the pale yearling cast his gaze from her and into the wilderness that they trekked. “Yer made to suffer.” This would have likely been something that Skellige would have agreed with, and did not sound as though it should have been uttered by Smokestep. It didn’t seem all that possible that this was the true meaning of life. He never imagined it could be so simple, but it did leave him to wonder how the gods could have been so idolized when they had created atrocities such as Medusa.
 
“I’ll agree wit ye though, she didn’t seem much like she deserved wot she got,” he then added to his companion with a soft shrug.