Stavanger Bay And as you get back into line, a mob jumps to their feet

She brought up word of spring, and he looked at her with a small gaping jaw and a look from the side of his eye that questioned the inquiry. Of course, he did not want to fight with her, so he nodded his head slowly and then glanced toward the sandy shores of their shared home. He had noted that she offered him the preferred dip of her skull and she had referred to him only by his title. It was a curt means of moving forward in their conversation, but he understood what she was aiming to do. “Aye, she’s startin’ off just fine. An’ wot have ye been up to? Spookin’ the locals,” he stopped himself for a moment and turned his head sheepishly away from her to watch the rolling of the waves. It was natural for Smokestep to fall back on his humor as a means to defend himself from deeper conversation; his father had always despised it.
 
“Listen, er…” he trailed with a bit of a half frown. He had always been fond of the spoken word and his affinity for using it as a weapon and a tool in many of his situations. It seemed as though he had found himself at something of a standstill, and he was afraid if he wasn’t careful, he would cause more damage than he had before. “I don’t wanna fight ye, Roz… the crew’s me life and all I’m aimin’ to do is take care o’ wot we’ve got, aye? The Captain can’t fight wit his First Mate either, so I’ve come to make amends fer wot we done in the past,” he offered her, and he turned to face her at last with a pair of mismatched and despondent eyes.