Dragoncrest Cliffs Saturn Nights

Njord resisted the urge to lick away the wetness from her fur, instinctively knowing there were certain intimate social barriers you just didn't cross. Erzulie looked quite content with herself, despite his worry.

The lilt in her voice was like cursive on paper, liquid and flowing, as she uttered words in a language unknown. Sirène sounded familiar, at the very least. She was a truly a woman of the sea and Njord wondered… did she pray to it like his family prayed to Atlan? He had never seen her worship the ocean… at least not in the traditional sense of prayer, pew, and service.

She did bask in it, however. Even now, as a chill claimed the air, she was still and peaceful in her sparkling satin gown of saltwater droplets. The kingpin turned her focus back to the rare event. What do you t'ink it was, she queried. “Not sure,” Njord murmured. “Seems ta me a fallin’ star deigned ta touchdown n’ Teekon.” He chuckled then, mostly to himself. “Tha elder’s back home would’ve said Atlan be tryin’ ta send a message.” His whimsical tone inferred that Njord had never been one to buy into theocracy on Meares Island.