Stavanger Bay The anchor's on board and the cable's all stored

"colder 'n a yeti's scrote!" velen hooted in response to the cussing that sounded in the night. he'd been on a patrol of the place. this was where the brothers seemed to have staked out for the time being, accompanied by saucy and dalia. thus far, ford had a good little crew going, and velen was loathe to do anything to screw that up.
he passed his markings along the sand as he went, ensuring the air was heavy with the scent of fresh mayfair-cairn piss. the woman ahead was not what he had expected: thickset, muscular, the only true indication of feminine nature in her voice. she seemed healthy enough, if not cold. but the winter lashings along the coast did not set velen's teeth on edge, for he had known icier climes in his young life. drawing closer, the boy regarded the heavy mane and firelit eyes, falling into a warm silence.