Stavanger Bay there she shot poor william taylor

It took only a few moments for the young pirate to catch sight of the red and white female. She appeared to be wrestling quite avidly with a large stick that was lodged deep in the waters. The Captain watched her for a few minutes as she struggled with the thing, her frustration showing in her movements. Were it not for the fire that fueled her, he might have laughed. Instead, Smokestep found it refreshing to see the kind of fuel that fed her. She was persistent and resilient in her desires; these were traits that not everyone seemed to possess. Godot lashed her tail before darting back toward the gnarled stick and fastening her teeth to it. He kept himself at a short distance while she tangoed with the sunken item. After Hexe had arrived and joined the crew, the young Captain had reminded himself that his tendency to draw close to others was not always welcome. The boy thought it best to allow Godot room to work her ways.
 
There was a familiar itch in the length of his limbs, though. The more he watched, the pricklier he found himself growing. Smokestep had always been fond of spars, and even more so with a feisty and willing partner. When he had first arrived, the pirate had found himself a few worthy adversaries. He had even offered one of them a place in his crew but had not seen the ruddy form of the brown wolf since his first meeting. When it appeared as though Godot might have budged the limb, he lowered his torso to the sand and huffed an encouragement. The stick did not seem to budge from its position. It was almost painful for him to see her try as hard as she was and not succeed. Then again, it was easy to see it that way as a spectator.