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

he liked her: she was a ribald pirate, like he secretly aspired to be. her talk of treasures reassured velen that he was not the only one who thought of such things. "i know adventure," velen rumbled. "and i could hunt moon pearls with ya sometime," he went on, flashing the corsair a broad grin. "you know, our little band has room for others." here was where velen usually succeeded, espousing the glory of his clan, if in an offhand way. "no sense going inland if the sea is in your blood." 
cold the woman might be, but prolonged exposure to the seawinds would toughen her, as it had all of them. velen scarcely felt it these days, a blessing for those who wanted to belong next to the heady lash of the ocean. "i'm velen," the boy offered a moment later. no need to tack on a surname; that was ford's department, after all, enforcing their line. it should have been his, but velen felt it was quite a mouthful to hand a stranger.