Stavanger Bay rough and tumble

“You would be correct,” Ford confirmed with a solemn nod of his head. “I am the leader here.” It was not a boast, and his tone carried no ego in it. He was filled with pride, but he knew his place and he knew when it was appropriate for him to share such things. When a stranger had come to his border to seek answers to her questions, he did not believe that was an appropriate time to shower her in his own belief of himself and his capabilities. In time, if the woman remained there longer than just to ask questions, she would learn just how capable he was.
 
She branched out to inquire about the significance of having settled in the bay. The inky titan watched her with a calculated stare that did not falter or fade. “The bay was once claimed by my father. He found my mother in the woods beside it. It was always meant for me and my siblings,” Ford answered her in a smoky baritone. The way he regarded the rift was with a quiet reverence. It was almost as though his belief in these words was enough to make it a reality. In truth, anyone could have wandered through and claimed the territory for themselves. The warhound preferred to believe that fate had a hand in all of it.