Dragoncrest Cliffs Deep End

Njord was careful with his work, pulling muscle delicately away from the creature’s offal.

There was a stirring in the dark. Swordfish was awake. His youthful, drowsy, voice slurred like a lazy river.

“My boy,“ Njord cooed as he quickly took a step over to his son, meat pieces in tow.

“Dinna fash, lad… I brought ye some supper.” Njord laid down and glanced over to check on Quennell, who was sleeping, before his gaze fell onto the thick layer of kelp stuck onto Swordfish’ ribs.

Njord’s nose brushed across his forehead. Hot.

He clutched Swordfish's paw with his own.

“M’so grateful the both of ye made it back,” the man said as he fended off the emotions which threatened to destroy his composure.