The pale siren spent more time hunched on the balls of his feet mumbling and scouring the mud with his claws than he did upright. Intent on proving a point, on proving himself a fine mate that could provide treasures to his chosen person. Alba had never heard the man repeat his name so many times in only a few hours, endlessly seeking his attention with every additional discovery. Alba. Alba, here. Alba, look. Alba. Alba. What do you think? Always followed by an extended hand dribbling a few pearls, pretty shells, even sometimes what looked like lost merrow jewelry.
