Ankyra Sound from the depths you hear our call

Psamathe was never far behind Aktaiê, though of late she had been reclusive. The encounter with Junior's father had left a sour taste in her mouth that even affected the way she viewed the young Neophyte, whom she had avoided these past few days. It would pass, as all things passed for the Adept, but she rode out her inner storm until the calm would rise once more. She had been especially snappish toward the consorts, who all knew better than to get too close to her in a foul temper.

Aktaiê was the only one who could settle her unrest, so the scryer kept close to her blood, following the priestess everywhere but seldom actually approaching. Tonight, she followed her sister's paw prints down the coast, stepping alternately across wet sand and foaming surf, so by the time Aktaiê summoned the Nereides, Psamathe was already halfway up the cliffs.

She arrived in time to see the winking blue of the surf, and her breath caught in her throat. A whirlwind of emotions swept her away so that she was still and silent as the others arrived. Seeing the gift of the Mother Sea like that was enough to wash away the worst of Psamathe's turmoil, such that when she turned to the group, she did not even avoid Junior's eye. It was presumptuous to speak in place of the Matriarch, this she knew, but a force in her welled up too strongly to ignore and she did anyway.

“The Mothers have shown me this,” she announced when all had gathered, “and now we sisters see it true. Matriarch,” she turned reverently to Aktaiê, extending her narrow snout in a gesture of apology and respect, “She means this blessing for you.”