Stavanger Bay gangnam style

The young man chuckled and the sound was a delightful one to the gangster's ears. A small smile twitched at the gangster's lips though it did not touch his eyes. It had been a while since had had smiled true. “It might have even been threatened, I tried to block out the unpleasant and potentially impending thought of becoming a meal,” Well, what did you know. Arturo Fearghal still had some humor left in him. He was not a beast of comedic relief, too serious and too cynical for comedy but it was nice to know that he had his moments. Perhaps in light of recent events being eaten would have been a kindness. It was a particularly dark thought and not one that Arturo entertained. He was still of value to this pack, he was still an asset. Riptide was an unfortunate and unplanned snag but surely the sea witch wasn't without his own uses. There were poisons and medicines in a smaller, separate den just out of the one that Arturo slept in. It appeared to the gangster that Riptide was a true “witch” — for he'd always associated the art of healing with the mystics as his mother had.

Szymon brought Arturo's attention back upon their conversation, making mention of the blessing, and making a point to inform that the sea could be unforgiving, like Skellige. For a terse moment Arturo considered telling Szymon that there wasn't anything the sea couldn't do to him that wasn't already done. The topic naturally shifted to his “injury”. Yes, that was a good word for Riptide. Injury. “My wounds were shallow and have healed,” but not all of them. Not the wound within his mind: Riptide's continued presence was proof of that. “There are some injuries that run deeper than physical, that are not so superficial. There are some injuries that you cannot fix.”