Ankyra Sound and welcomes little lasses in

For all the blood they didn't share, Svalinn suffered much in the same way as Illidan. They were wolves raised inland; sheltered, for all intents and purposes. The young wolf had tried to bring up these misgivings to his mother - that he and a life by the sea didn't feel right - but she had dismissed the ill omen without consideration and so had he. Except... he returned to the woods far more often than he would venture out onto the beach, or down into the drip-dripping grotto. His process of acclimation to the Strand (and the Sound in general) was going strenuously slow at best, and he couldn't imagine what might motivate him to turn seawolf faster.

His ears turned before his eyes towards his once foster-brother, and a feeling of resentment speared through him. He looked so much like Caiaphas that Svalinn was willing to bet he was of finer coastal stock than himself, though he would be wrong. He tried not to let it bother him too much, but he would be the first to admit that he had kind of avoided his long lost kin since being introduced to him. "Illidan," he ruffed, greeting the older boy's approach with a light wag of his tail before sobering once more. "Did you hear Rosalyn?"