Wheeling Gull Isle white noise

She didn't want his fish. That was fine - as long as she wasn't chasing him off, he'd gotten what he wanted. Sock laid down where he stood and nibbled at the fish's salty scales. "The little black lass," he replied. "Not too keen on talking. Pointy ears."

Hopefully, this would suffice. Sock either hadn't gotten her name or had forgotten it. A bit embarrassing, but he didn't claim to be perfect. "Nice island you all have here. Seems quiet and peaceful so far," he commented, still licking the slime off his fish.