Blackwater Islands Of whit and measure

the dreadfather is able to garner her attention with their chuff; for a moment he simply looks at her: assessing quickly, watching as she draws nearer. they do not move, their chin lifted to enunciate that they are the one in charge, even as she asks questions. a small twitch of their lips is given, a want to reprimand: to let her know that they ask the questions but ...they do not speak on it. they could humor her, for a moment.

i am the dreadfather, they offer simply; a low rumble. i know of no sedna, no atka or sos. the only gods to be found on these islands were them and their nightwife. they watch, bemused as she turns and begins to twist the seaweed strips she finds in an interesting way. what was the purpose, they wonder, but again do not ask. what is your name? a demand disguised as a question.