Wheeling Gull Isle the beatings will continue until morale improves

Her tongue was briefly upon his chin, and as his own muzzle moved toward an ear she pulled away, inquiring about the wolf he referred to as flotsam, having found him washed ashore like so much debris. It was not what he wanted to hear, because what he wanted to hear was for her to ask to assume her place at his shoulder. The Captain ran his tongue along his fangs, his hard, pale eyes meeting hers.

"That depends." Intoned Ferahgo. "Are ye still just a wench, or are ye wisened up enough to be me wife?"