Seaside Moors my boy builds coffins with hammers and nails

Something was coming, something was building. Tension in the air, ever-rising, like the winds before a storm. He could not place the origins, could not determine what was going on—but there was something to keep him up, to make him restless. Pacing along the shore, his gaze shifted back and forth from the sea to the skies, searching, searching, searching—

A sound, a song. Someone was there, calling for… Rosencrantz? Curious, the Inuk turned his back to the ocean and sought instead the owner of the voice. Why was someone there for Rose? Whilst he was normally easygoing in every aspect of the word, Aningan now wore a hardened expression, uncertain. And when he arrived, he discovered he was not the first to do so, finding the male in question to already be conversing with their guest. But who was she, and why was she there?

Approaching, Aningan stopped within earshot and called out to his packmate, “Who is she?” Whilst normally welcoming, the northerner could not help but feel skeptical—a side-effect of his unease, really, a result of unknown tension from the impending birth of children.