Stavanger Bay between scylla and charybdis

murgash was convinced he had died and gone to heaven; as far as his piggy eye could strain to see, there was fish. bountiful, endless, scores of piscetarian delights -- a boon for any creature, especially one as scavenge-y and hapless at hunting as he.

he let loose a roar of delight and charged into the cold fray, heedless of any danger or peril that could overcome him. he snapped at fins and raked the throbbing sea with his teeth, his drool outpouring into the salty brine as he swallowed his fill. his glut was endless as the waves of thrashing fish, and he ate and ate and ate and ate and ate...

until a howl commanded him; sourly he paused, his cheeks swollen with struggling fish. he swallowed and felt the fins slap down his throat and wriggle in his stomach: if only women were so bountiful! and easy!

he supposed he could take a break from his gluttonous binge, and with slow steps he dragged himself from the shallows and made towards syzmon. he was overwhelmingly aware of the sharp nip of wind that hounded his backside; his hocks felt stiff and his stomach full but cold - so cold.

it occurred to murgash that if big stripey trembleguy had something to say, it might be important: he dearly hoped whatever the announcement was, it was along the tune of syzmon bequeathing his high-born woman doe to good ole noble murgy. he assumed that now that doe had given birth to some squalling pups, syzmon wouldn't be using her anymore, right? so, dibs?