Stavanger Bay /ʌnˈteɪməbəl/

The bird was close, now, and had yet to notice him. From this vantage point, he could make out more of it, and now the beauty of its bright plumage was plain to him. Were he not a practical man, he might have been caught by the beauty and, perhaps, had mercy on the poor bird. Unfortunately, Aesop was a practical man, one who did not favor beauty over a full stomach.

Fortunately (at least for the bird) he was spotted. With a cry that made him flinch, the bird alighted with shocking speed. She wheeled above him for a few moments, and Aesop watched with keen eyes, squinting against clouded sun. When the bird broke her circle and began to fly towards the rocks, Aesop followed, loping beneath and barking at her occasionally. He had now given up on an easy meal, but there was hope yet that he might succeed.

He stopped when she landed, puffed up and looking so very tasty. When she spoke, her voice shrill yet not wholly unpleasant, he cringed again. It would take some getting used to. She asked if he meant to eat her, and he shrugged. "I dunno. If you come closer, will you try n' eat me?" he called. If she didn't prove to be a meal, the least she could do was entertain him. At this point, he'd be satisfied with just that, and a cold meal from the Bay's caches.