Stavanger Bay i'm moving into stillness

Though they had only just met, the female made mention of his name being suitable. Smokestep did not dig further into the remark. His moniker was one that he used and carried with pride, though it was not born of any such thing. Skellige had called his son Smokestep because he had believed the pale young boy had been a sign of betrayal. The yearling had despised that he had been granted a nickname dripping with his father’s fear. All of that confident yuck that he coated his actions with was to keep his own head above water. The marauder had used the name Smokestep as a means to hide his own identity – to keep him safe. There would not be one of them who would know Kingfisher, or the Warsaw Islands. He had freed himself of his father’s reign.
 
The girl made mention that she was interested in setting up a cache for medical supplies. Smokestep raised his brows at this before nodding his head a few times. It was exciting to think that someone had arrived on the edges of the pack lands with intentions and aspirations. A smile curled the ink of his lips and he motioned to the slice of trees and wood that sat nearest to where their edge and the Sentinels edge had rested. “Ye’ll find some good places over thar,” he instructed her confidently. “Good o’ ye to tend to others; we could use one o’ ya.” By that, he meant that they were short on the medic sort and she was welcome to the brood.

"An' if ye want to be anythin' here, ye start workin' toward wot ye want to be fer the crew. If yer good at all that medic stuff, keep workin' on it and keep yer Captain updated." Of course, he wouldn't have minded a few more one-on-one sessions with the red-splotched girl. She was the peculiar type, but he found her interested because of it.