The Sentinels shipwrecked

The sentinels had once stood as a shadowed and mystic place. Smokestep had been drawn to the forest since his birth. The pale woman Deirdre and his own father had stated that the wood was rife with the spirits of all things wild and gentle, and tormented. The young pirate had been fearful of word getting back to the forest witch. He wondered how she would have felt to know that there were only small buds forming beneath snow and ash, and that the great trees were only guardians to the dead. Surely, her heart would have been broken. The ghost trekked up from the bay and into the depths of the forgotten pack. His steps were calculated, and his gaze darted warily from one end of the wood to the next. A tree fell and rattled his frame, but the fallen giant had also cast a light on a dark shadow in the thick of it all.
 
The mismatched colors of his eyes locked to her dark figure – hunched and distraught in appearance – but he did not move at first. He thought that she might have been a spirit of the former pack. The pale mate to Skellige had said that spirits were frequent visitors within the forest, but he had never thought he would see one. With a soft chuff that hung in the air, he waited to see if the shadow would turn or if she would vanish entirely.