Dragoncrest Cliffs prophet margin

Moment passed as the vim drained from the young woman, bested by the storm. She acquiesced and turned to him. Njord exhaled out the nose – a sigh of relief. Sapphique couldn’t lose another wolf, especially one of Kaertok’s children.

“Dunno,” Njord replied quietly, cerulean gaze turning to watch the waves of flurries cascade past the den’s small opening. “It’s my first winter in Teekon, ‘an I never seen a storm so bad.” He caught himself realizing he was being a bit of a debbie downer. “But I’m sure it’ll let up soon enough. That’s mother nature for ya… alwayyysss changin’. Just like tha sea.”

Haunt. Funny that was her name… now with Kaertok being dead, and all. She looked just like him, too. Njord resisted a frown, trying to stay chipper. “Tha name’s Njord. Njord Sveijarn-Corten. Why don’t ya come and sit besides me? Warmer that way.” He was genuine in his invitation, but would ask his next question whether she did or not. “How’d you end up in Sapphique anyway?”