Stavanger Bay And as you get back into line, a mob jumps to their feet

“Aye sure did!”
 
There was nothing but confidence firing from the tone in his words at her inquiry. The pale Captain could not help but to allow the wily smirk that curled his dark lips and crinkled the side of his face. Both of his eyes danced in the light of the sun at her exclamation, but he did nothing to retract it. It seemed that some of the hope had returned to his frame, and he demonstrated a playful attitude by lowering his torso to the ground and canting his head a bit to the side. When she inquired what a gibbet was, he laughed and then shook his head. “It ain’t very pleasant,” he warned her with mischief in his voice. “Gibbet’s where a pirate dies once they’re caught. I always say ye can ruffle feathers with any ye feel like… just don’t get caught.” The thought of being forced to his knees to die had always been something of a bitter imagery for the young pirate. Smokestep was still youthful enough to believe that he could go on for hundreds of years as the Captain of his crew; wild and wary, but still the corsair that he felt himself to be. The gibbet was not made for the likes of him.