But Where's the Rum Gone? [Steel]

Had he been in better spirits, or else more aware of his surroundings, he likely would have spotted the lad long, long before he did. But alas, he had missed the boy's arrival on the shore altogether. He was greeted with a simple 'That looks gross,' which he responded to with a rasped chuckle. "Ahoy, lad. Don't knock it 'till you try it." The whelp couldn't have been a year old at best. He appeared large for his age, but he had yet to fill in with the muscle that came roughly a year after one's birth. Hascal remembered when he'd started to fill out - how thrilling it had been. He and other lads used to wrestle and brawl, all for attention or pitiful dominance. "Be ye hungry, lad?" came his sailor drawl - thicker than usual. There was a tiredness in his voice, but the rasp all but masked it for the most part. "I can catch you something." He tilted his head as if the statement were a question, though it was obvious that he could catch something for the boy if he wanted to. Salmon tongue swiped across his lips as he retained his comfortable position from before. The boy was hardly a threat - and so he wouldn't bother to stand.

"Speech"
'thoughts'