Stavanger Bay league of extraordinarily grumpy gentlemen

[tosses Rannoch a fishie]

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Scarred lips tipped upward at the corners, fashioning a roguish grin. “Nor I,” Szymon said with feeling, amused despite himself. Judging the distance between the fish, the urchin, and the tidepool wall, the black-banded beta shot forward, plunging his narrow muzzle below water level to snap at the fish. Due to the close quarters, he aimed only to grip, not crush; when his incisors caught on a slippery fin, he swiftly threw his head back, tossing the fish over his shoulder. It flopped on the sand like a wild thing, and Szymon gave the boy a single, calmly-spoken command: “kill it.” Rannoch would have to get used to the creatures’ slipperiness and surprising amount of muscle before he could catch them for himself.

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