Stavanger Bay Pour me some moonshine

There had been no sign of the first mate in a few days, not that he was keeping tabs exactly. It meant that he would double-down on patrols and be much more ferocious when confronted with potential threats to the bay, such as the oncoming pair of wolves. He'd spotted them while investigating a pile of kelp that had become netted with a strange blue mesh; Tetsubo was not knowledgable about plant life, and could not discern the difference between a discarded fishing net and an herb, and a brief investigation merely told him it was of the sea. His attention diverted when he caught movement in his periphery — and, like before, he charged along the beachfront towards the interlopers before they cast forth their summons.

It was the call that stayed his hand, so to speak. Tetsubo's charge concluded with a skid across the sand, the clatter of his claws upon packed stone, and an alert glare from his otherwise sullen, savage gaze. They'd called for the boy king specifically, which was different from the other strangers that had come upon the claim. He watched them, the wind blustering across the seaside and whipping his darkly tipped guard hairs; his approach was slower after that, deliberate, as if it took excessive concentration not to complete his journey with the same intensity as before — certainly it took effort not to reach for their nearby faces once he came close enough to do so.

He stood there for a moment in silence, and then in his monotonous drawl he demanded, Speak.
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