Wheeling Gull Isle blackened was the banshee's wail

Snitch limped partway along among the rocks, but stopped with a shudder as soon as the stranger began to growl. It was only natural that his head would drop, his tail curl, and though he was bothered by the pain in his toes and the smell of salt in the air, he was obviously trying to appear diminutive. 

"You're not -- you're not the pirate," he floundered vocally. This creature was not the large salty-dog that he had encountered on the shore; he was smaller, thinner, and it confused Snitch on some deep indescribable layer of his puny psyche. "I... I'm here to.. I dunno really." Not hurt anyone, obviously! What made this stranger think he was a threat? Pfft!