Stavanger Bay sending a danger signal

The release of tension from Lagertha’s hardy musculature was not mirrored note for note in Szymon, but he decided that for the time being she posed no threat. Grateful that the unwieldy tangle of syllables could be shortened to a nickname, “L-Laggy,” he repeated. He supposed that “skol” was a type of greeting; but just in case she thought it was his name, “Szymon C-Cairn,” he replied. The smile upon the warrior woman’s face was infectious, and Szymon’s frenetically twitching tail began to wave in answer.

“Doe h-has s-s-spoken of you,” he stated, his stutter producing a bloom of self consciousness within his gut. He felt, in a way, that he knew the female already — Doe’s glowing respect for the woman made the boy more lenient toward her, and although he was swiftly forming his own opinions as the meeting drew on, he liked what he found thus far. The woman would prove useful — her scarred body and efficient way of moving proclaimed her prowess in battle, and although he longed to test her mettle for himself, he thought first to question her loyalty to Skellige and to the bay.

“H-How d-d-did you c-come to f-f-find the b-bay?” he asked, his tattered ears ever watchful should his obvious impediment cause the female to misjudge him.