Stavanger Bay ex's & oh's

@Doe, @Szymon, @Redshank, @Meteora, we can forward date this a bit, since it's after the move. Siblings/cousins welcome as well. Set just at the BRD borders, if that's at all plausible/resonable.

The move had been chaotic, as far as Sandpiper was concerned. Everything smelled wrong after the snow storm; ash, although she did not know it. Everyone was worried, the air heavy with a certain feeling; sorrow, although she did not understand it. She could not ask about it, although she wanted to know why. Through sharp nips with newly descended baby teeth, she expressed her frustration.

The wolf who was Not Her Mother no longer produced milk as sweet as she once did. The wolf who was her Aunt did not produce enough milk for two litters, but at least it tasted as proper milk should. Sandpiper did not think highly of these changes. 

Worse still, they were made to move from one den to elsewhere. It was a painstaking process, and the wriggling child did her best to slip away during the move, forgotten along the sandy shores. Because she was not hungry, this did not bother her very much, although she did not like the cold. Still, the lapping waters sung to her, and she dutifully obeyed, taking slow, wobbly steps towards the blue.

As she had done with her own daughters, Doe did not begrudge the daughter of Skellige her first taste of the sea. The piper had slipped away unnoticed, but her absence had soon been discovered. It was Doe who had first found her scent, being attuned to the whims of the charges she nursed, and it was Doe who watched over her now, standing by to ensure that she would not be carried off by the tide, or by the erne that circled hungrily above them.

But she did not stop the girl from heading toward the waves. These waters were her birthright, and as much as they belonged to her, she also belonged to them.

"It is the sea, little Piper," said Doe, padding into the waters herself. "Do not be afraid."

She should be, of course. And Doe herself feared the ocean blue, the creatures that writhed within, the darkness and deepness of the waters. But she did not show it, and if the piper was also afraid, neither should she.

Meteora left the growing number of her followers to scout, as she did on occasion— to clear her thoughts, perhaps, though she felt naked and exposed without her sisters alongside her. In this particular case, she did not wish to endanger them. She was curious of the pack that lay beyond the burning forest. They were unlikely to be neighbors, for the Nereides preferred some distance between their borders and those laid by outsiders, but it was wise to know the other families along the coast. It would be useful to know them, come raiding season.

As she neared the ocean's edge along the bay's northern borders, the silver she-wolf trailed to a stop. It was curious, she thought, and she watched as the child moved toward the water— and as the woman she had met upon the plateau allowed it. It was familiar and awoke something in her breast; a fierce desire to rear the child as a siren, for she had yet to have daughters of her own. Surely it was a daughter, for the bravery and trust displayed in the Sea.

Her sea-green gaze simply rested upon them, a longing hidden there.

Of course, her disappearance would not go unnoticed. She was a precious child - daughter of a king - the blood of her ancestors fueling her, guiding her. Would Skellige have been proud? It probably would not have mattered. Flicking an ear too large for her head, she barely acknowledged her Aunt, although she did pause for a moment, concentrating on what was said.

She did not understand it all, not really, but felt an urge to be defiant. Lifting her snout, she returned her attention to the water, eyes solemnly held on the waves. The smell of salt was much more rewarding than that of soot. Not yet knowing fear, she could not honestly say she was afraid, but the depths made her cautious. Frowning, she yipped at the sea, falling back onto her rump.

When she saw that she had not been heeded - that she had purposefully been ignored, Doe let out a silent growl of irritation. Her patience with Skellige's brood was wearing rather thin - especially with this wayward child of his. She was still growing accustomed to being their guardian, and the idea that she could punish them as easily as her own children - and without reprecussion - had still not sunk it. For now, she ignored the child right back, turning her gaze away from her obstinate appraisal of the sea to search out the erne once more.

But it was not a seabird her eyes fell upon. "Meteora," said Doe, surprised to see the shewolf again so soon. "Hail," she called, loud enough for the other to hear the invitation in her voice.

The child did not tread deeper into the water, where the current might drag her from the safety of shore. It took time for the Sea's daughters to grow accustomed to the cruelty and malice that was, oddly, a comfort to the Nereides. It was only after they had learned of Her that the Mother would grow forgiving, only when they understood her varied moods that they could hope to survive their swings.

"Doe," she responded, approaching with respect. Her posture was submissive but relaxed, and the harsh women moved toward with a fluid ease at the invitation. "Your daughter?" Meteora queried, sea green eyes shifting to the bright-furred child.

The woman came forward. Once, Doe might've admired the fierceness of her stance, but today she was too drained to notice. The question didn't help, either. Her attention was turned inward as she struggled to find the answer. Sandpiper was parentless if she did not belong to Doe - and the girl nursed from her teats, was cleaned by her tongue. She should agree, but she couldn't.

"No," she said decisively. "She belonged to the alpha - but I am the alpha, now," Doe shared, eyes tracking the movements of the speckled girl as the eyes of a hunter tracked its prey. Often, the Akhlut struggled with an unwelcome urge to eat these children. They were not hers, and that made them intruders - pretenders to her own children's thrones. If she had not loved Skellige, they would already be dead.