Stavanger Bay reunion

He moved on from Ashari, huffing about it with every step. Fucking inbred kid, come all the way here to talk nonsense about the tribe at him. He had liked her, once, but now it seemed that they had gotten to her just like they got to everyone else. A shame, really. The Keils were batshit and unpredictable, but at least they weren't entrenched fundamentalists. God, could you imagine?

He was going to continue his merry way up the coast when, of course, he stumbled upon some scent markers that blocked his path. Either Zamael could go around, wasting time, or he could take matters into his own paws and cut through (and likely get the shit kicked out of him in the process). He ruled the latter out; the piss smelled strong. These guys and gals weren't fucking around.

So, instead, he heaved a long-suffering sigh and began to trek around, keeping several respectful paces away and hoping that these wolves weren't like the girl with the stick up her ass from Ikka-whatsit. He wasn't crossing the border, after all. What the fuck did they have to complain about?