Stavanger Bay the wrath of heaven

'tis a gift for my queen, the woman explains; a small shift of the kraken's shoulders given as he watches her tail curl over her back in though lazy, clearly dominate posture. while, suffering a different temperament he would've taken offense to this; instead, he acknowledges it but does not prostrate himself before her. for he sees no need. the bay is not claimed — else he wouldn't scented border markings prior to entering it — and, as far as he is concerned there is none in these wilds that has better claim to stavanger bay than himself. he is cairn and stavanger bay belongs to his family.

arinbjorn, at her next words, cause a small noise, a thoughtful grunt to sound in his throat; curious and a bit amused at how she speaks as if this is their land and that it is necessary to pay homage to a queen that he does not know nor recognize. he has no need for such titles; trivial and pompous as he finds them. he is kraken. cairn. terrible shadow and reaper of the seas.

i am not a thing to be kept, he wants to say. but, oh, he was. what is the kraken without the master to bind and unleash him? what is your name? and the name of your ...queen? he asks, assuming that calling her a 'self-assuming' queen wouldn't go over well. regardless, the title lilts strangely from betwixt his lips, not exactly betraying his dislike of the title but hints at some of his internal struggle with using it.