Stavanger Bay here, i killed this for you ♥

Tagging for reference. @Doe, come’n get it! [rings dinner bell]

Eager to appease his mate’s apparently bottomless stomach, Szymon threw his weight against the mountain goat he’d brought down — he had been somewhat crafty about the whole thing, waiting for the nanny to spark up a dominance conflict with another female before inelegantly shouldering the babe off its protective overhang. The fall hadn’t killed the young goat; at five months old, it was nearly halfway to adulthood and sure on its feet. Plus, the fall wasn’t that hard. Like its aunt — or grandmother, or babysitter, or whoever — before it, Szymon had driven it toward the beach to use the sand to his advantage — and perhaps also for his own benefit, he mused as he humped his spine and tug-tug-tugged it another few feet. Thankfully the weather had cooled and he was not beaten down by the press of heat to add to the exertion of dragging his kill along. He could almost enjoy the pull of its dead weight against his hamstrings, shoulders, and back, knowing that his injuries from tussling with Mordecai were completely healed now.

On the way he’d passed the forest of ravens whose borders heavily bore @Arturo’s scent, and he could not say whether the Fearghal’s abandonment of the Blackrock troubled him or not. On a personal level, Szymon had considered the older wolf an ally; though they were not close enough to claim friendship, Szymon had respected the man. He was sorry to lose the coywolf’s strength and wits but his emotional and physical response to Arturo would likely be swayed by whatever @Skellige or @Doe wished of him. The thought of the diplomat was pushed from his mind, replaced with the image of Doe and the gleam in her eyes he hoped to see.

When he reached Chateau Dozzle, he took a moment to catch his breath. With his chest, throat, and face spattered with the blood of his kill, he threw back his head to call for his mate — gently in case she took offense to being summoned. His sonorous voice was soft and low, as soothing as he could make it, and swelled with affection — love? — for her and pride that he could speak so openly to her of such things.