Stavanger Bay what is ruin if not the body becoming aware of itself

Witchdoctor’s expression grows terse as he waits for the ebony dappled girl to answer his question and is left unsatisfied by her lack of response. Had he stuttered? Had he even spoken at all? He thought he had but …it could have been the voices despite that for the moment they are quieted at his command ( not that Witchdoctor expects it to last long ). She is looking at him with owlish eyes and ears slicked back to his skull and he scowls for a moment longer before his muzzle splits in a cheshire cat grin and he chuckles. There is no apology for unsettling her, no remorse. If anything it strokes his ego, acting like gasoline to a fire. He delights in it, finds it amusing. “Well?” Witchdoctor inquires sharply, intending to remind her that she never answered his question. “Are you going to stare at me like a deer at an inferno all day? Or are you going to speak?” Witchdoctor bows his head and noses through the tangle of seaweed at his paws once more, grasping it betwixt his teeth and tears off another piece to begin chewing.