Stavanger Bay hands getting cold

The girl's scent had grown stronger in the weeks leading up to that day. Though it had been some time since the titan had spoken with her, he understood that she would have needed time to gather herself. More than this, the warhound had felt as though he had let her down. He had vowed to search for the man who had assaulted her and had returned with nothing to show for it. Instead, Ford had worked harder than ever to enforce their claim and to make sure that each stranger was met with a watchful eye. The wolves of Stormrift were his, and he – the stormblessed – had made an oath to keep them safe from harm.

The world would do enough damage on its own – Ford did not need the likes of others to threaten the empire that he had worked to build.

With long strides, the sea-bound wraith moved along their borders. Every so often, he would glance toward the ashen and dismal display of the sentinels. The cool whip of winter wind would stretch out and brush against him, covering his dark coat in a thin layer of ash and sand. Ford did not pause to tend to his appearance. He trekked along swiftly after the scent of Dalia. When the brute saw her, he breathed a heavy breath and released a quiet bark to catch her attention. With that, the warhound trotted to catch up to her figure.