Gilded Bay where man cannot, love can; love will

It seemed that the information he’d provided was just enough to crack open the stranger’s guard; her tail wavered behind her and Knaven did not feel fear toward her. It was more than could be said for some of the Cairn family members who had remained behind in Warsaw. The family was a large one and the members of it were varied, though many of them who had remained true to the roots were sharp beasts who did not fear speaking their mind and proving their strength. They believed so wholly in the sea and what it would do for them, that the premise of anything else was insignificant.
 
Try arguing with someone like that.
 
The woman explained that her true name was Moorhen Cairn, but she had shortened her calling to Moor – something he felt like he preferred – and had adopted the surname of the family that had taken her in. He didn’t blame her, of course. He’d probably have traded the Cairn in his name for a piece of roadkill, but he wasn’t about to admit such things just yet. She had honored him, after all. Knaven didn’t understand why. Skellige was a frightful man and a dangerous fiend. It was remarkable that he had survived for that long and such good health.
 
“You seem to have had a good life, Moor,” the druid remarked to her, the salty tang of his voice seemed warmer than before but only slightly. “Skellige is well. He had found a mate during his time here and she remains his mate to this day. Our mother – my siblings and I – are Mayfair-Cairns, so I understand the sharing of names that you opted for,” the earthy beast informed her, offering such information easily. Deirdre had been an important member of her family and her pack, and her addition to Warsaw helped to fortify it beyond anyone’s imagining. She softened the harshness that was Skellige Cairn. She was his saving grace.
 
The young rogue drew his crown upward, peering at her with eyes that they shared. Deirdre had been much too young to birth her; she must have been from another woman. “Tell me, Moor. Who was your mother? Did you know her?” Knaven asked of the rib-marked stranger. The question was issued easily, even though it was weighted with the meaning behind it.