Gilded Bay The Cool Seaspray

The other male was quick to remove formalities. He offered his name without hesitation and then inquired what he might call the swaggering pirate in return. The pale hound remained relatively at ease, ears swiveling forward to capture the request. “Oi, well... les see. Me name's Smokestep. Pleasure is all mine,” the cocksure pirate offered his own calling with a dramatic bow of his head before standing back upright and swaying gently where he stood.

Opening his squinted orb, the ghost peered at the wolf called Engel for a long while before the other male's words had registered in his ears. The poor lad was commenting on how cold the water had been. “Aye, she's awful brisk this time o' year,” he agreed with a solemn nod of his head. “Say, ye don' seem too familiar with the sea, mate. This yer first time?” The brown male did not seem as though he could carry as much comfort as Smokestep could when confronted by the frigid lashings of the ocean and her waters.