Firefly Ravine fifteen states [m]

aside from the rush of the river along it's bed of mud and riverrock, the ravine is quiet. a soft symphony of song birds thrill thru the air, a peaceful reprieve from the crass call of the seagulls.

soft, serene ... but not exactly what velaryon finds comforting.

he is a saltson to the very morrow of his bones, and he would always belong to the Sea in some manner or another despite that he turns his back to Her for the moment.

a soft croon of an invite; a pirouette of soft steps that velaryon hadn't heard — a slip of his guard, he tells himself.

he turns to face her, saltdried hackles bristling stiffly; though the gesture is more of a start of surprise than anything aggressive.