Gilded Bay ebbed and flowed

The sea wolf was a peculiar creature. Ford was a beast of war, and a harbinger of death. He knew this about himself well, but he knew better how to control the urges within him. Despite the fire that burned through the pit of his gut, the Mayfair-Cairn was a skilled man, who had honed a craft that his father had never learned. He knew how to talk to people without allowing his pride to overwhelm them. Though the young warhound had never seen wolves more devoted than those who were pledged to his father's numbers, Ford had his own theories that he could compose a mightier alliance than Skellige had before.

The smile that adorned the other male's muzzle was a good sign. The titan returned it without faltering, knowing what good acts of kindness could earn him. When the golden-brown wolf inquired as to whether Ford lived near there, the skeletal wraith nodded his head carefully. The subject was difficult to approach for one like him; to feel as though he had claim over a land without actually having done so yet. His eyes darted toward the other with a peculiar intensity, though his smile never faded. The hollow, emotionless glistening of his mismatched gaze was almost demanding.

“I am seeking to claim the bay down the coast,” he gestured with his muzzle in the direction of the crook of land that he aimed to make his home. Surely, Rannveig and Velen were already quick to patrol the borders and to demonstrate their intent. “What of you? Is there a claim with your name on it?” the powerful creature then asked. The soft rumble of his baritone seemed genuinely curious, and he canted his skull to the right some.