Stavanger Bay tell the mirror what you know she's heard before

rannveig was thrilled to not be shot down (really - his fragile ego wouldnt have bounced back from that). tail wagging, he stepped jubilantly alongside dalia, a stupid grin still hanging from his stupid face.

she wasn't wrong the beach didn't need much protecting -- other than the occasional coastal rake, the beach was fairly vacant -- it was the woods that bordered their claim that likely needed the most attention. rannveig's gaze traveled to the shadowy bosk, and then back to the grey shore. his expression was serious, but his eyes betrayed a hidden mirth as he spoke. "but -- the sharks and the walruses could getcha -- gotta patrol the beach so you don't step in a jellycomb or have a nasty tangle with seakelp. it's a particularly tenacious brand of seaweed, you know -- and once it wraps its vines around you you're trapped forever and turn into a soggy, bloated, seaweed infested hag." his eyes grew wide as he lavishly exaggerated the story; stepping back, he glanced dalia up and down and then shrugged. "but... who knows? it might be a good look for you - i bet you could pull it off, and i'd probably still like you, even if you turned into a salty nettle crone."