Ankyra Sound i'll tell you a secret

to his silence, the kraken of the cairns holds fast; though it occurs to him — briefly — that conversing with those more familiar with these wilds than he might prove beneficial. then again, since the drop, arinbjorn was more feral than he was civilized. he preferred it this way; this savage truth as opposed to the lies that slip from betwixt clenched teeth. studiously, the cairn watches the approach of the stranger, upper lip curling back in an irritable warning; brief and perhaps unseen by the stranger. arinbjorn's ears flutter back as he realizes what has caught the stranger's interest.

the mark of cairn.

a unique ribcage marking that arinbjorn assumes was passed from his grandfather, skellige, for smokestep had been absent it. it draws many eyes, raises even more questions; sometimes praises ...as if any of the cairns could control whether or not they had it. why do you stare, wayfairer? arinbjorn desires to ask but refuses to be the first to break the silence that exists between them.