Stavanger Bay come wayward souls who wander through the darkness

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The sea king was silent as she posed her first question. He could not promise her that he would not grow cross at her words, for assumptions were tricky matters. If she were to say something that struck him the wrong way, the brute could not fully swear that he would not react harshly to such a thing. Still, he did not believe she was capable of making an assumption so vile that it turned him wicked. So he waited for her to proceed, and when she did, the brows on his skull lifted and he peered at her with dark eyes and a straight expression. The ink of his fur seemed to rise somewhat and he found that the hammering in his heart that had been there before was slowing down to a gentle beat.
 
“Then you would be correct,” he said softly, expression still unchanging.

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