Stavanger Bay harpoons

The song had been caught in the crab trap of his mind for a while. It continued as he did, alone again (or one could argue, always, given the quality of his voice). 

A mallard of such malice, twice the size of any man;
A bill to give you nightmares and a monster-us wingspan.
You cannot hope to fight it, so avoid him if you caaaan
That terr'fyin' waterfowl, the beast beyond the dam ~!

Row-ho, row-ho, row with all our might!
Row with harpoons loaded an' spoilin' fer a fight!

Row-ho, row-ho, and with any luck
We'll win the day and do away -- the dreaded Moby Duck!

Birds sprung from the trees as he marched; when next Dubloon found himself punching cold sand and competing against the sea for volume, he stopped.

Aye, aye, I'm shuttin' it, miss sea. Your turn! He bellowed, answered only by the crashing waves.

The Stavanger Bay was not far from home and so Aiolos might sneak to it every so often, especially now with his children more grown. If he were lucky he might find himself a good catch to bring home to his lot of children.

Today he stepped with a beat of the waves and a song of pirate's tongue. A singing which caused a sway of the redhead's tail and a smile on his mug as he came unto it. Enjoying the view there, seafarer?

The song had died out, leaving only the crashing of the waves. The ocean appeared to be exceptionally loud given how far he was from it, truly.

Further out across the deepest portion of the bay Dubloon thought the water looked extra choppy; the wind was frothing it something fierce.

The man's head bobbed to the beat of his own song despite its absence, as if he listened to the sea sing it back to him word for word.

Another voice came, this one more corporeal: Enjoying the view there, seafarer?

Dubloon's brows raised as he turned to survey the hill, seeing the red-furred man immediately. The way he blazed across the cleft of sand was mightily impressive.

Ah, come t' listen t' the sea sing! 'tis quite the sight. That was an answer and a question all in one, multitasking.

A beat later, This yer land, scallywag?

The voice that calls back out to him is a heavily accented one. One which often came paw-in-paw with those living along certain parts of the coast. A piratey tongue for certain and Aiolos would make sure to keep a sharp eye on this one, should he also fit the sneaky and sly stereotype.

For now, hearing the voice pleased the Greek and brought upon a sense of nostalgia. It is... He agrees with a smile and a glance back to the ocean ahead from where Aiolos had come from inland off the open field land. Then, he turns back to the fellow out to his side a ways down. It isn't, although, I wouldn't mind if it were. The Stavanger Bay is a good place to call home.

Aiolos then juts his head out to the northeast, motioning for the other to look. That island just over there, that was once my own. He wondered if any other had decided to call the place home since then. If Mou or Maegi had ever returned with their pups to bring life back into the isle.