Stavanger Bay morning glow

a breath leaves kjalarr's black leathery nostrils in a small plume of steam; the morning air biting and chilly. he is built for it, this cold: even if it settles into his bones with a soft ache he had not had years ago. but he is getting older, he realizes. still, he is not old enough to consider himself an elder.

the call rises, and kjalarr makes his way towards its' origin; steps drawing to a slow upon his approach. cerulean gaze sweeps over her: off-white, lilac colored gaze, small and stocky. hail, kjalarr greets. this is stavanger bay, he introduces the building foundations of his to-be kingdom. i am kjalarr. how can i help you?