Stavanger Bay you are the night-time terror

“It seems an awfully unfulfilling life to lead.”

The comment was direct, and was offered to her only because he did not see it wise to exist in a world where the labor of one's actions would simply be forgotten. What purpose was living if there was nothing to show for it, after all? In that, perhaps, pride was the warhound's greatest downfall. While emotion played very little in his life, he had always found a steel resolve in the blood that flowed through his veins. In this, Ford had amounted to one of the best of his kind. But he was not so foolish as to believe that his siblings had not risen alongside him. They carried their own strengths against the jagged hairs of their spine. Together, they were unstoppable... and perhaps that was where he was able to see her longing for her brother.

“He may still find his way. The sea has a means of claiming what it wants,” the titan then remarked with a small shrug of his broad shoulders. For those who were destined to prowl in the depths, he knew that the waters would sing them back home. If her brother longed for the vast stretch of water as much as she had claimed he did, it was likely that the man would wind up there – one way or another. In spite of this, it was not Ford's task to act as a shepherd for the lost lambs of the world. He had found his purpose without failure, and he expected that others would do the same.

A thoughtful creasing of his brow seemed to narrow his features. The sharp glint of his mismatched gaze did not budge from her face as he cast a stern expression toward her. The warhound had nothing to hide from the stranger on the beach – it was his claim, after all. For all of the poetic words that she had shared with him, there was something that he still did not understand.

“How have you placed yourself under the pledge of a pack if you still search for him? If your heart longs for him the way that you say it does? Surely, you should not stop until you have been reunited,” Ford inquired in a rumbling voice. The pale woman had painted a lovely picture of familial bonds, but he was not as firm of a believer in words as he was in action. If she intended to be found at the side of the lost man, it made little sense that she would align herself with a group she knew little about. Was it not almost as though she had given up on the entire premise of it? Or was it simply her emotion overplaying her cards?