Stavanger Bay Rest My Dear

The weight of what had happened had finally sunk in to the young pirate. He could feel the heavy burden that had fallen on Engel and he wanted the scout to wipe that from his mind. Smokestep shook his head and snorted softly in response to the final whine that had been issued from the red wolf’s mouth.
 
“No, mate… don’t ye say things like that,” he growled softly. “The sea demanded a life, an’ she took wot she wanted.” It was the dramatic truth; life beside the ocean was not something that came with joy and ease, most of the time. Smokestep’s father had been keen to remind the boy that the water was nothing to toy with. There were dangers that lurked in the depths. The swell was home to things far more fearsome than the wolves that dwelled in the bay. The loss of Awinita was frustrating for him because he knew that she had carried a lot of promise with her. More than that loss, he found a sense of pride in her death. The pale girl had fought for her crew mate and had given her life to Ironsea. It was a noble death.
 
“It ain’t yer fault, Engel. Thar was nothin’ ye could do.”