Stavanger Bay goldjoy

Ach, that explains why I haven't come across many other scents here, Sawney replied gently. His eyes were drawn to the object she carried; it smelled of fresh shellfish, and he'd never seen anything quite like it before. He'd ask about it, but that could wait.

Instead, Sawney gave a long stretch, spreading his forelegs across the sandy ground and clenching his toes. He felt a vertebrae or two pop.

You'll forgive me, miss, he apologized, looking sheepish. I've been traveling for a while and I'm achin' a wee bit. But it'll bide. He straightened and gave her a nod. Alasdair's my name. Alasdair mac Faolán. But ye can call me Sawney.