Sea Lion Shores and a bottle of rum!

A shout drew Roger out of his stunned absorption, causing him to whirl and turn fervent, orange-brown eyes on the one who had addressed him over the clamor of the bellowing inhabitants. He wasn't that close to the water, but the black-and-peppered male brought an uncertainty to the pirate's mind concerning the mammoth creature's power. And as soon as he began to think that he was near enough to be snatched up like that sea lion, he was scuttling backwards before turning tail and half-running to come stand at the stranger's side.

Near enough, he was pleased to find that he smelled of the Ridge, which his own pelt only faintly resembled at that time. "What kinda hell-born beast was that?" he asked breathlessly, his heart hammering and his eyes wide as he still reeled from the surprise of the whale's whooshing arrival. He didn't realize he was breathing hard, more excited than he was actually afraid.

As he calmed, he actually began to notice things about his company—like how impressively built the wolf was (though he was merely an island when compared the the continent that had just ran ashore for a meal). His eyes were green too, though Jolly Roger avoided looking into them directly; half out of respect and half because he was still glancing wildly out to sea, wondering if the whale would come ashore again: this time for a bit of wolf meat.