The Sentinels no roots

Practically born in it seemed a promising answer. The titan’s kneejerk reaction was to have scoffed at something like that, but even he had not been born in the swell, as much as he would have liked to claim. Instead, the prowling jaguar nodded softly to his companion – it was good to have those of like-mind around him. For all of those who did not worship the sea in the same manner as the Cairn children, Ford wished he had one that did. Though he did not know the name of the man who walked alongside him, he felt that didn’t shine a true light on what rested beneath the surface.
 
“They can teach you a fair bit more than how to temper your strength,” the warhound remarked with a curling leathery lip. The other male ventured to guess that Ford was not a stranger to the waters. That was an apt assumption to have been made. Sea salt clung to the wraith’s coat as though it had been there since his birth. There was something primally leviathan about him. “You are not wrong. I have belonged to the sea my entire life,” Ford responded in a level tone.
 
The duo passed through the trees and broke the edge of the terrain where the wood met the oceanside. There, the titan turned his attention to his companion and motioned with a short gesture of his muzzle toward the sands and the beach. The bay never ceased to amaze him – no matter how often he had seen it – and he wondered just what this fellow would have thought of the land that Ford had claimed. “This is Stormrift,” he introduced in a quiet rumble. His gruff tone was like the sound of thunder in the distance; fitting for the brute to reigned over the territory.