Stavanger Bay change the narrative.

When Yami turned her back on him, cursed his name, fled from him — he just stood there and let her go. He had his back to her in the start and when he heard her thunderous departure the man finally turned and leveled his pale eyes upon her narrow ass, but he merely scoffed. Let her go, then. He'd find someone better within minutes. So much for a life of adventure — the little coward couldn't take a little blood, a little danger, and now Firefly was left to his own devices. He abandoned the man in the dirt soon after that and would not look back.

He took his time in crossing over in to the claim too — he let himself calm further, trace his route along the limits and desecrate each point he could find traces of that other man's scent, until he was too bored of the maintenance to continue. The smell of the sea water invigorated him more than the metallic taste of blood between his teeth ever could. 

There was no way for him to know how long he roamed across his new kingdom, he didn't really care where he went or how long it took, he was vibrating with anticipation (and some fatigue, probably a concussion similar to the skull-faced man if he still lived), and finally stopped when he got to the center of the territory, where he sat down and merely waited.

and wait he did not long have, for velen had smelled him upon the wind, lifted himself up from where he napped with @Dalia in the warm spring air, glaring toward the sea. an interloper. and where was ford, his full and titanic strength brought to bear against the interloper? had he been awake, velen might have heard the sounds of battle, but it had been too swift for the boy to know the true breadth of what had happened.
calling sharply for @Rannveig, the ceto pounded into the center of the territory. a tang of blood there, upon the sea-wind, that of ford mingled with the reek of a stranger, and velen pulled into a hunting crouch, chestnut eyes casting about for the trespasser that had wounded the god of the sea.
a man, littered with scars and the marks of his brother's teeth, sitting in all entitled awaiting for the wolves of the rift to discover what had happened. velen had no time to look for ford, though fear that the titan had somehow been killed rose to choke him. instead, his stride lengthened, carrying him out of the scrub and down the rocky strand toward the strange male — he would not pause to bandy words; his was a bloodlust and a rage that fueled every pace of his long legs.

a call, sharp and belonging to his brother, roused rannveig from his den nearby. he arose and spit from the mouth of the den like a startled jay, fur flared and eyes searching for velen's form, which just now was edging past the sand dunes.

there on the wind the scent of blood polluted the purity of the cove's saline scent -- with it, the scent of an interloper was supplanted on the wind. rannveig hauled ass after his brother, bespotting the form of a scarred man with fresh wounds on his side.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD," rannveig charged from the front, coming towards the man like a furious asteroid come to make its mark on the earth. rannveig did not wait for cordialities or an explanation -- it was written clearly on the sand, and any man to lay his teeth in his brother was an enemy to destroy.

He had not heard the call as he roamed, but as he settled to the dirt there did come the dissonant sounds of someone running; he tensed, getting back to his feet as a large wolf came racing to his position. Firefly knew it would not be easy to fight off the loyalists to the skull-faced stranger. Truthfully he had no reason to continue harassing the wolves of this coastal pack - but he had won. He had fought their leader and come out the victor, and he was determined to ride that high for as long as possible. His ears were still ringing from the previous battle; his shoulder was beginning to feel stiff and the blood that flowed from his fresh wounds had not begun to clot. But he could feel the familiarity in the wind - brine, weeds, the wolf scent of rivals. He was right where he wanted to be.

Then he heard the belligerent shout of the stranger through the temporary calm. He faced the oncoming shape and bristled, lifting his head up, assuming the posture of the victor that he was, and snarled a warning. He could keep on fighting if he had to - if they refused the basic laws that governed their kind - but he knew that would blow back on him quickly.

I defeated your boss, he assured the agitated young man, left him somewhere you could easily find. Just follow my scent. A wicked grin flashed across his worn face as he said this, amused at himself and the puddle he had left the wolf in. I am your leader now. Take a knee.

the rift belonged to the mayfair-cairns and their kith. it was this truth upon which they had all been reared, it was what had drawn them back to the teekon after smokestep’s failure.
he heard rannveig’s roar, saw the interloper gather himself. buoyed by the presence of his brother, and consumed with the holy wrath of a paladin that any should come against them, velen closed the gap between himself and the readying male swiftly.
he heard nothing of what the other was saying, save for the claim of leadership, the order that they bow. the words pounded a blood frenzy into his ears; he swept them back and cut his muzzle through the air toward the other wolf, seeking fur, flesh, bone.

in some other timeline, there's a smart rannveig, and that smart rannveig probably stopped and generously heard firefly out. he might even have nodded understandably, tipped the felt of his hat, and conceded that firefly was the rightful boss. this smart, aristocratic rannveig probably had his life together.

but present rannveig did not have his life together, was not smart nor aristocratic, and did not honor the words of a scoundrel who (in his eyes) wrongfully usurped his brother. this rannveig did not stop -- especially since velen was streaking in with all the wrath of a juggernaut. rannveig did not stop, did not collect $200, and did not listen -- instead he screamed a battlecry and flung himself at firefly, going for anything so long as it was something that hurt.

While he was busy goading the grey male, a second wolf came careening from the trees; Firefly should have known better than to stand there and talk - he was the invader, the conqueror, and he knew what it felt like to be threatened with the will of a rival intent on changing things.

This time he was adamant that he prevail; yet this earthen wolf did not relent, aiming teeth his way just as the silver boy began his own assault. Firefly was a powerful warrior within his mind but his body had been through one recent hardship, and so he was not as swift as he could have been. The ginger swept to his position and when he heard the gnashing of teeth Firefly felt that grin return. 

A rumble burst from his chest as he side-stepped and lunged to counter. When the bodies collided he felt himself drift again; his vision blurring, the shadowed fringe returning, and he lost himself to the feral darkness as it overwhelmed him. If these beasts fell to his teeth they could join their fallen kin.

his brother joined for the collision, and all velen could think was how foolish this man was to stand against the two of them. but then again, the ceto had not conquered anything as had the scarred man — his was a blood dynasty, titles passed down and earned with the staunchness of one’s being.
dalia held his children within her, and that thought replaced ford for a moment, driving velen toward the other’s flesh again, uncaring of the lacerations and snaps against his own flesh. 
blood soon flooded into his gaze from a cut over his eye — with rannveig’s combined might, they were more than a force for the stranger. but who would find ford if one of them were mortally wounded? who would fulfill the titan’s edict upon the sentinels?
in the end, velen did not capitulate with death, nor did he submit to the new sea god. he paused amid their battle to back slowly some feet, signaling his willingness to be done with it all, gaze casting to his brother with a silent command that they allow stormrift for now to succumb.

left to his own devices rannveig would not have ceased fire; it was the will of his brother to pull from their spat, and rannveig did so reluctantly. 

the fire in his gaze gaze did not yield. rannveig spat fur and spit upon the sand, his hackles ablaze as he flanked his brother and sized up their competitor. it was clear if it was up to him, he would not have stopped.

not until the sandwas darkened by firefly’s blood.. or his own..