Hushed Willows Ironborn.

When at last a figure emerged from the strange woods, Rökkvi lifted his fierce gaze to look upon him. It swept over the long-legged figure, judgemental. Silver and alabaster: shades of the North.

Despite the hues of his pelage, this one was unsuited to his family's ruthless claim. A corner of Rökkvi's mouth twitched upward in his fleeting amusement.

The Ironborn did not breathe a word. Instead, he continued to watch the skinny yearling for any suggestion that he might find the courage to challenge his proximity.