Stavanger Bay wild and water take us both

Brig nodded along, not bothering to question the particular terminology. It was something he would pick up in time. His eyes swept the patchy snow and sand of the beach for any flecks of color that might mark a fellow packmate, but for now at least everything was quiet and still but for water and wind. He would meet them sooner or later, at any rate. It wasn't that Brig generally didn't get on with people, but he still had to distantly hope they wouldn't be too intolerable. Particularly since, judging by Smokestep's reply to his question, the borders themselves would be difficult to locate, and to find them he'd at least have to borrow someone else to scout with.

Occasionally he thought it was a pity that Adéwalé wasn't a wolf. Then he also thought his ability to find corpses was probably of more benefit than detecting scent marks.

When the captain motioned towards his back leg, Brig gave a short tilt of his head. He didn't say anything, beyond the tilt of a brow; had his words about feeling no pain been unclear? His leg was the last thing hampering his ability to function -- his eye was much more of an issue, and his tendency to overheat or not notice when he'd jabbed a branch through his pawpad more than that. It was more trouble than it was worth to start a conversation about, though. His next question was far more interesting.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "What does it entail?" If it had anything to do with fishing or stealing, he was in luck.