Stavanger Bay Just a young gun with a quick fuse.

The howl that echoed out over the waters was surprisingly familiar. The long-legged Captain had been waded deep in the shallows, searching for a prize within the depths of the murky ocean when it had drifted overhead. Lifting his crown up sharply and turning in the direction of the summons, Smokestep searched to see if he was mad or if the call was truly there. On the edges of their beach, he could make out a diluted little brown blob of a figure who seemed to be waiting patiently for someone to arrive. Curiosity managed to take hold of him and pull him from his wading spot.
 
Trotting out onto the beach and shaking his pelt free of lose droplets, the ghostly corsair sauntered in the direction of the caller. As he drew closer, his dark lips curled into a surprised grin of delight. Closer still, and the yearling was trotting through the sand. It did not take long before he set out at a quick-paced canter and closed the remaining distance between himself and the other wolf. “Ziggy! Oi, mate… it’s good to see ye,” he barked happily, flagging his tail behind him as he trotted toward the sandy brown wolf. “I’d recognize them baby blues anywhere…”