Stavanger Bay teach our bodies: haunt the cause

Smokestep cursed at the sands when she mentioned she had no name of her assailant. He did not take kindly to those who might harm his sister. Curling his lip and baring his fangs, the pirate peered down the coast and snorted. “Least he's easy enough to pick outta crowd, eh?” the young Cairn stated coldly. If he caught sight of such a brute, he would be sure to leave a few marks himself. The yearling would tuck away the information for a later time and use it when it became necessary. Until then, he had more to focus on; the forming of the Ironsea crew would not take much longer. He would have felt better with more members under the ranks.

While Sandpiper did not seem at all bothered by her fight with the stranger, Smokestep opted to mull over it for a while longer before she made comment on Moorhen. It seemed there was more than enough to keep the young brute aggravated. He could not imagine why she would have abandoned their name and their cause. His golden counterpart asked if she had damaged her head and he snickered softly. “Had to have... she was a ripe wench, Piper. Trotted off like she was some sort o' queen. Makes me sick,” he growled in response. It was safe to say that if Moorhen was to come back to the coast, she would have been met with the baring of fangs and the lashing of his teeth. Smokestep did not carry very much of his father with him, but he would not tolerate the desertion of the Cairn clan.