Stavanger Bay those who save lives, and those who take lives

A voice signaled the arrival of a stranger long before the scent of her did. One ear swiveled atop his crown, turned to the direction of her calling. He did not miss the words that were spoken, but he did think them to be odd. A quip was made in regard to his location – sunken in the sands with the waves lapping against his limbs and shoulders – suggesting that he might seek to delve deeper. There was a moment in which his dark lips twitched downward, unamused, before he swung his head around and latched his pale sights on her features. It was in this motion that he was met with the scent of her and the lingering aroma of those who had dwelled near to her. Somewhere in it, he could have sworn that he caught the balm of his brother.
 
“I wouldn’t think of it,” the white knight responded to her in a deadpan baritone that struck like a match against the back of his throat. It was gruff sounding, even with the waters lapping in the background. The attempt at humor did not seem to have been appreciated by the stoic specter. He had not even been certain that it had been her intention. It did not matter. Before he could prevent himself from inquiring, Guildenstern passed the filter between mind and mouth and asked of her, “why? Have you tried?”
 
Those with better manners would have been shocked by his brash query. He did not seem at all regretful. Instead, his pale gaze latched onto her features with a devilish glint. The ghost of a smile toyed at the edges of his leathery lips, teasing that they would rise upward but never committing to the action. Guildenstern waited to see if she would respond.