Stavanger Bay i'm moving into stillness

---

the morning was moody and cloaked in a dense fog.  snow fell in solitary flakes like ash from the clouds that squatted low over the bay.  ava's wanderlust had fled her and in its place a dull thrum settled in her breast behind her sternum, knocking her bones with each hesitant beat of her heart.  she was not a woman well-suited for lonesome travels; each day that passed stirred more restlessness from deep within.

she sucked in a breath through her teeth, working at the inside of her cheek as she moved from the bluff with the waves at her back.  the snow-laden grass shifted into sand with time and it gave her pause once she noticed it.  the wayward ember worked her toes into it, feeling how it shifted around each of the finely crafted bones of her paws to encase them in warmth.  how peculiar.

she removed her toes from the sand and continued walking.  she had started to smell the packlands some time ago, and though at the time she had deliberately tried to shut it from her mind, it had forced its way back with increasing intensity each time.  now it was almost entirely unbearable.

the songbird slowed, her milky eyes raking the landscape that was so foriegn to her -- thick evergreen and deciduous forests were all she had ever called home.  she drew her lip between her teeth before she raised her maw with a tentative grace.  her ears slid back against the plush crown of her head and a lilting soprano cut through the cheerless morning air, beckoning any soul that might be out there. 

 

---

A call lilted overhead in the form of a melodic and feminine voice. Smokestep had found himself buried half way in the sand, digging in search of a stray crab that had pinched his lip and disappeared into the granules of the earth. Reeling, the pale marauder turned his muzzle in the direction of the caller and snorted softly at the crab that would need to be abandoned for better purpose. Shaking the sand from his coat, the white yearling turned tail and trotted steadily toward the stranger on the edges of the bay. His limbs allowed him to travel with speed across the stretch of earth, and in no time at all he had found himself standing before her with his head high and a crooked smirk twisting his dark lips upward.
 
“Ahoy, lassie,” he greeted her in a pleasant bark. “What brings ye to me borders?” At this, the pale man canted his head to the left and waited for the woman to speak. All the while, his gaze roamed her figure with interest. She was pleasing to the eyes, forcing him to wonder what might have happened that he would be granted all of the stunning women who had joined his crew. The girls were strong and hard-headed folk, and he knew that they made for great pirates once they had earned their sea legs. Smokestep would never complain about having too many women aboard his ship.

---

ava waited with carefully metered patience, the girl's ears pinned back and her gaze was fixed upon the rolling waves that were scarcely visible in the distance.  only once did they slide to the figure that seemed to be wrought of the fog itself and never to his eyes, only to acknowledge to the stranger that he had been seen and that he was in charge.

the display of submission was incomplete without the appearance of ava's tail, although the nub she had was fixed against her flank the best she could manage.  she had given the borders a wide berth and she had called for an audience; she hoped it would be enough.

he approached her cocksure and aware, and although his posture betrayed his position his displays of dominance were not incredibly overwhelming.  she watched his two-toned eyes rake against her striking coat and she imperceptibly sucked in another breath through her teeth.  she was not unused to the toying gaze of the men-folk, but it neither intrigued or offended her.

greetings, stranger.  i am ava christine holloway-blackwood.  she melted gracefully into a slight bow, her nose tipped towards the ground as one of her narrow forepaws rested against the plush of her chest.  i am an herbalist and story-weaver, a collector of names.  i am looking for a family.  a home.

---

The girl shriveled at the sight of him, morphing into a physique that suited her place at the edges of his land. The yearling had never been one to demonstrate his power – at least he had never found a reason that it was necessary – so he offered her a gentle smile and motioned with his muzzle for her to rise. There would be time to make nice with formalities at a later day. The girl moved quick, though, and before he knew it, she had offered and introduction, set of skills, and her hopes upon arriving at the edges of the Ironsea crew. Smokestep regarded her with a crooked smile before he shook his head and chuckled softly at the quick spiel she had been polite enough to provide.
 
“Ye don’t need to act all posh ‘round me, miss Ava,” he assured her, offering a swift wink with his deep crimson eye. “Wot do ye mean yer a collector o’ names? We like givin’ em out,” the pirate then inquired with a tilting of his skull that suggested he wasn’t certain how she’d meant that comment. Otherwise, her skills seemed fine enough for most packs; he was interested to know how she would take to the life so close to the depths.

---

she honed in on his inky lips and his pirate smirk morphed in her mind.  suddenly they were the briny waves as they crashed upon the angry and jagged rock precipice to the west.  she imagined his laugh would cause the sea to tremble and shake before it shifted to the poetic cacophany of roaring whitewater.  

her immediate deference to him dissolved as soon as he allowed, and the songbird let her lukewarm eyes trace the shadowed lines beneath his angled and masterfully sculpted bones. in her mind she had already crafted him as a metaphor -- this strange man was the streak of hot silver that split the heavens before a downpour, he was the elegant grace of the gulls who sailed over the bay, he was a summer breeze over placid ocean waters.

a ghost of a smile played at the edge of her lips, and she regarded her next words carefully.  i remember every name that has ever been given to me, everyone i have ever met.  i weave stories from the fibers of the wind; i covet the experiences of strangers and hold them with greedy jaws.  if it seemed cryptic it was not intentional.  despite her willingness to be straightforward with the conquerer of these queer lands she would not allow her strange nature to be suffocated to fit in.

 

---

If he’d known how she had painted him in her mind, his ego would have expanded beyond all comprehension and turned him into a wild-eyed fiend. Instead, he watched as she mulled his question and then produced a response that seemed as though it fit the statement she had first used. He was curious to know why a girl like her would seek to settle in one place, and he wondered if a lifetime crew membership was what she was desiring. Smokestep did not want to imagine that there was a possibility of her abandoning ship and forcing him to hunt her down. The pale corsair also wondered which name she had given him in order to represent herself. The pirate was intrigued, but a cautious glint caught in his gaze and he drew his head up a ways in a sharp motion.
 
“Ye sound like a fine lass,” he said to her, voice genuine in its delivery. “An wot happens when ye’ve grown tired o’ this place? Ye trot off to find someone else to give ye names?”
 
It was something that he felt was a valid concern. Smokestep wanted to grant her access into his home, but he needed loyalty above all else, and to know that he would have a crew that would remain true to their Captain until their dying breath. Smokestep knew that it was a lot to ask of joiners and newcomers, but it was really all that he would ask of his men and women; loyalty was a fire that burned brighter and hotter than most he’d ever seen. If the time came, he needed honor in that bond. And he wasn’t fond of chasing down pretty girls for leaving without word.

---

his question was valid indeed, but it did not strain the conversation any.  she was not worried.  i lived in the same forest my entire life until it burned to the ground and my pack dispersed.  i have had my fill of wandering.  the stories, the people, they come to me.  it is not the other way around.  although she did not yet know the promise that came with ironsea's crew, the premise of remaining in the bay until the pack's downfall or her death would not frighten her.

the sea is something new.  even though i knew the forest intimately, it would still often reveal something new.  i cannot lie, i am not adept in the waters.  but i will learn.

---

Ava mentioned that she found others were more drawn to find her than she was to seek them, and Smokestep almost scoffed at such a thought. He recalled searching high and low to find souls willing to accept the life-long pledge that he required for his crew. Yet, this girl seemed confident enough that he let it slide without making a comment regarding it. The pirate drew his tongue across the pale whiskers on his muzzle and frowned thoughtfully at her admittance.
 
“Ye’ll learn quick wit the crew here. They’re a rowdy bunch, but there ain’t no one around who’s as loyal,” he assured her with a short bob of his head. “An we’re happy to have ye, miss Ava, but ye got to understand that there’s a vow that comes wit joinin’ the Ironsea wolves. Once yer in, ye stay fer life.” His two-toned eyes fell on her and he waited expectantly for her to respond or turn and leave. There was never an in between, he found; they either agreed, or they turned and found something else.

---

the way his demeanor sank at her admission did not go unnoticed by the songbird.  if it disappointed her, she hid it well; she had found that in situations like this it was best to remain honest.  if she had concealed from him that she could not hold her own in the water and then floundered upon his shores, the imagined that the reaction would have been more severe than a thoughtful frown.

his response pulled her lips back up, and a silent breath of laughter caused a plume of breath to rise from her nose.  a rowdy wolf she was not, but many of the wolves where she had hailed from had been and she had fit in there just fine. i have no qualms with your vow.  i just have one question, sir -- what is your name?

she scarcely knew a thing about this man or his pack -- ironsea, a name as wave-ravaged as the man that stood before her.  what could be said of a woman who was willing to pledge herself for life for something she did not understand?  the thought was fleeting and it did not worry her much.  it was how it had always been.

---

It was not the idea she would never understand their way of life that bothered him as much as the thought of what wanderlust could do to a soul when they were trapped. He had heard tale of crews that had gathered all the wrong blood, only to find the crew disbanded after a short while; each member having ventured to something else that piqued their interest. Smokestep was not interested in watching his legacy fall; he knew that he could not fail in his conquest of the bay. The sandy girl, though, felt comfortable with the promise of loyalty, and the pirate smiled upon her agreement. It would mean another woman within his ranks, but he had never found himself in too difficult of a situation with the lasses he had already gathered. Ava was welcome.
 
Sweeping his head to allow her entrance onto the bay’s grounds, the corsair regarded her with a cocked brow and a curled half-smile on his leathery lips. “Me name’s Smokestep,” he introduced with a small bow of his tall frame. “An ye’ll have plenty of chance to earn yerself a new name here, miss Ava. Ye’ve entered the land o’ pirates, an we’re keen on keepin’ the crew as safe as possible. Once ye earn yer sea legs, ye’ll earn yerself a new callin’,” he explained then.

---

smokestep, spilled from his inky, perpetually smirking lips.  she etched it alongside the imagery she had created for him, but fitting, was all she had to say.

the two wolves that stood on ironsea's sands were complete and utter opposites.  ava was what the wind spake during a light spring rain, she was the roar of cicadas at night.  her modest form next to her captain's self-important swagger was humorous and ironic; she hoped that in time she would not look so sore.

the way he spoke was queer and often hard to decipher but she offered him her full attention.  crew was foriegn but it stuck with her.  thank you, she said with a dip of her head, running her tongue across her muzzle.  in an attempt to be somewhat less demure, is there anything you'd like me to get started on immediately?  i would like to find somewhere away from the water to start a medicinal cache.

 

---

Though they had only just met, the female made mention of his name being suitable. Smokestep did not dig further into the remark. His moniker was one that he used and carried with pride, though it was not born of any such thing. Skellige had called his son Smokestep because he had believed the pale young boy had been a sign of betrayal. The yearling had despised that he had been granted a nickname dripping with his father’s fear. All of that confident yuck that he coated his actions with was to keep his own head above water. The marauder had used the name Smokestep as a means to hide his own identity – to keep him safe. There would not be one of them who would know Kingfisher, or the Warsaw Islands. He had freed himself of his father’s reign.
 
The girl made mention that she was interested in setting up a cache for medical supplies. Smokestep raised his brows at this before nodding his head a few times. It was exciting to think that someone had arrived on the edges of the pack lands with intentions and aspirations. A smile curled the ink of his lips and he motioned to the slice of trees and wood that sat nearest to where their edge and the Sentinels edge had rested. “Ye’ll find some good places over thar,” he instructed her confidently. “Good o’ ye to tend to others; we could use one o’ ya.” By that, he meant that they were short on the medic sort and she was welcome to the brood.

"An' if ye want to be anythin' here, ye start workin' toward wot ye want to be fer the crew. If yer good at all that medic stuff, keep workin' on it and keep yer Captain updated." Of course, he wouldn't have minded a few more one-on-one sessions with the red-splotched girl. She was the peculiar type, but he found her interested because of it. 

---

 

wrap here?

she gave a small, compliant nod at his compliment.  she was never sure how to take them, but it filled her with a sense of meaning and pride.  thank you.  if there is anyone who needs treatment, you should send them to me.  

she glanced over towards where he had instructed her would be a good place to begin her medicinal cache and finally offered him a small but genuine smile.  back home, 'medic stuff' was what i was most suited for, i found.  i often met with other packs as a diplomat, but i am not sure if you have a need for that sort of thing or if you have someone who fills it already.

 

---

The pale witch of the wood who had fallen for his father had been fond of the healing arts. Smokestep had heard many times that she had saved the members of the depths with her knowledge and her careful touch. Of course, having met her, the young pirate could easily see how it was a role that she knew how to fill. He had never been able to see it in another person until the peachy-coated Ava had wandered to his borders and requested a home. They had not yet had someone who was inspired by treating the injured or unwell. Smokestep had wanted to make a place for every aspiration on his crew, and he was pleased that the newcomer was eager to make a name for herself so early on. The two continued to chat a bit as he led her through the bay. He explained that her best option would be to aspire for the rank of Cooper until she had managed to get a foot hold within the crew and then she could branch further to Bos’n if she so desired. When the young pirate left her, he felt pleased with the prospect of the young lady and was eager to see what she would accomplish within his borders.