Dragoncrest Cliffs Flotsam

The seafarer was thankful Mireille knew, like Meerkat, that he would never have been absent so long of his own accord. Nevertheless, Njord shook is head in refute – a weak smile on his visage. “You are sweet ta say such things, lass… but I ken what I did wasna right, no matter tha circumstance, and I must work ta mend it.”

He thought of all the things the sea had taken from the pack. From him. The image of Merlin’s waterlogged body came to mind. “Aye… the sea does take,” he agreed bitterly. “Sometimes I feel more than she gives,” Njord admitted. What mattered, though, was Mireille’s active choice to recieve him. For that, he was grateful.

He sighed wistfully and suddenly noticed the new sheen of wetness in her eyes. Njord couldn’t be sure of their source or the emotion behind them - perhaps a byproduct of how distant they had grown. Maybe she was hurt or resentful. Angry or relieved. Still, his first instinct was to comfort her.

“Och, dinna waste yer precious tears,” he chuckeled half-heartedly in his low-sounding brogue. “Are ye too old for hugs, mo nighean?” he offered as one arm opened up, inviting her in.