Ankyra Sound the light you stole

The apology is unexpected— she might even call it shocking; from a stranger, who'd had every right to act as he had. She blinks, glancing back to him and studying him only for a moment. You don't need to apologize, She tells him, eyes following something tossing distantly on the waves; driftwood, perhaps. His question makes her pause.
I've settled recently, She admits after some hesitation. It's strange, she wants to say, it's odd and suffocating and thrilling. But he's a stranger, so she takes a breath and swallows the urge. A pack of northerners, not far from your claim. IkKanattuk.