Frey
Frey's laughter swells through the night, melodic in a way that isn't dissimilar to the call of other starwhales. They appear as if shaped by the aurora itself, corralling and beckoning the creatures to leave the Sugartide to its tailspin in peace. "I think that is quite enough fun for now, little ones," they croon, as though they aren't addressing the sort of animal that will one day dwarf the skies with its breathtaking presence.
Swirling around the ailing ship, Frey's touch is like the playful sort of breeze that often howls across the Eurybia, urging the calves to leave the Sugartide and return to the safety of the pod. "There is much travel for you yet," they assure the starwhales. "And perchance more ships to encounter. Leave this one to get home, and you do the same."
Swirling around the ailing ship, Frey's touch is like the playful sort of breeze that often howls across the Eurybia, urging the calves to leave the Sugartide and return to the safety of the pod. "There is much travel for you yet," they assure the starwhales. "And perchance more ships to encounter. Leave this one to get home, and you do the same."
