Stavanger Bay fancy thinking the beast was something you could hunt and kill

swim, the stuttering seawolf said -- swim. murgash leveled a curious gaze to the paler brother, wondering if szymon's test was a fool's errand. he was not thrilled about the prospect of swimming across an apparent channel at high tide, but refused to let even a flicker of doubt materialize on his fiendish features. it seemed the silent brother agreed -- and this time, spoke: murgash curiously eyeballed him before executing an exaggerated and clumsy courtesy. "well then, best get to it." he cheerily exclaimed, the roguish grin returning to his revolting jowls. "yous comin'?"

with that, the filthy rogue would turn on his thick paws and make for this apparent perilous island in which he may or may not perish. long as there was food and women in davy jone's locker, he'd be fine.