Witch's Marsh My mirror says I could use a break

her offhanded comment has the cairn struggling with whether she was being truthful or not. to him, this wasn't entirely unheard of. warsaw islands had, had it's mystics that spoke for the sea. well i'll be damned, skylla drawls. in that case i deserve my retribution. words teetering on the edge of a soft jest but flirting with that precarious line of seriousness.

she takes a guess then as to why he's here: that he was looking to make something but he didn't know it yet.

a fair enough prediction; and he supposes there is a truth to it. for all the cairns that had come to these wilds and formed brief bonds here: none of them stayed. his grandfather, smokestep had been born here but he had not stayed. kraken had came and went but was always called back to the wilds of warsaw island.

a small trill that slithers down his spine as being opened to his truth.

words gather in his throat, dance upon his tongue to respond only to be shuttered away by surprise as she mentions her pack, that they were looking for members and then told him she'd prefer if he didn't avoid them. a boorish grunt leaves him as he considers her words. tell me about your pack and i will tell you my decision. it had been a question turned last minute to a suggestion. skylla wasn't of the habit of making promises he couldn't keep and wanted to ensure he was as good a fit for her pack as her pack was for him before he said 'yay' or 'nay'.