Dragoncrest Cliffs ‘Cause I Want More

200

The time he spent standing as a statue at the edge of the sea was lost on the northerner, his consciousness slipping in and out of focus with reality. What her saw, what he thought, what he was thinking swirled in such cacophany that, when brought up and out of his reverie, Stjornuati was not quite sure of where he was. It was only the crash of the waves and the calls of the feathered creatures above that told him anything, the voice of the woman lost on him temporarily.

It was a few moments before he moved, blinking away the dryness from his eyes as he turned from his spot and stopped, finding himself in the company of wolf that he did not know. Her stark color was sharp against the grayness of the cliffs, her missing eye a question marked in his mind for later curiosities. The way her gaze was settled on him though, was expectant, as if she had requested something from him.

Fyrirgefðu? The word left his mouth before he could think about it, forgetting for a moment that these wolves did not know his tongue; wishful thinking, perhaps. Ah, this one sorry? You speak?