The scene, this strange woman tied to the side of a storage crate, quickly garnered the crew's attention. It wasn’t long until some were brave enough to approach, pelting her with questions and pestering her about her looks. Despite the annoyance, each member never lingered long; quickly returning to their tasks. Eventually, the man with the feather in his hat strolled up to Nerida. A wide smile on his face, a row of white interrupted by a single golden tooth. 

“Oooh,” He dragged, crouching down. “What did Boreal the feral cat drag in this time?” He pressed her chin up with a finger as Nerida’s eyes narrowed on him. “Quite a looker, this one here is.” Nerida jerked her head away, her jaw clenching shut as she glared. Feather hat laughed, followed by a sigh as he brushed his fingers in the sand. “What use could you have, I wonder…” He mused, the words nothing more than an exhale. He’s eyes inched along the exposed skin of her legs, her outfit nothing more than breezy shorts connected to a sleeveless top. 

Nerida failed at suppressing the shudder that rippled through her body and without thought, her foot was shoveling into the sand and flinging it into Feathers face. Causing the man to teeter back onto his ass, sand coating his face. Instead of anger, his brows were lifted, the corner of his smile wrinkling his eyes. Wordlessly, Feathers wiped the sand from his face and stood. With one swift motion, he returned the favor before walking away. 

Nerida shook her head, sand sprinkling from her hair as she tried to blink the sand from her eyes; tears already welling. The few who witness the exchange, laughing freely. The rest of the afternoon went by uneventful. Nerida wasn’t sure when her stress gave away to tiredness but when she opened her eyes, the sun had already set. Some of the crew ate while others gambled and all of them drank. 

Crawford was away from the main group, a low makeshift table in front of her as she sat on one of the flatter rocks in the area. She was hunched over, papers littering the table top and surrounding area. The staff of a lantern shoved crookedly into the sand, the glass swaying in the soft breeze. 

Andres wandered the beach barefoot, the bottom of his pants rolled up as he swigged at a bottle and dipped his toes into the edges of the water. Some crew members walked up the ramp to the boat and never returned, probably passing out on the vessel, while others took to the makeshift tents on the sand; glad to sleep on something other than wood, hammocks, or the occasional bag of potatoes. 

Nerida shifted, her arms numb from being pinned between her back and the crate. She didn’t notice when Boreal slipped from the campfire and approached her causing Nerida to flinch when he took a seat next to her. The pirate twisted a cooked fish between his fingers, a stick implied through its mouth and coming out of its lower body. She couldn’t help it as her mouth watered, stomach growling from a long day without food. The smell, like that of wood and sea.

 Embarrassed by the sounds her body was making, Nerida looked the opposite direction of the grinning Boreal, who had stopped what he was doing to stare at her. “Your captain is a dickhead.” She offered simply, frowning as she spotted Feathers tinkering with something small. 

“Oh?” Boreal answered, balancing the fish between the pressure of a finger on either end of the stick. He could only assume she spoke of the only crew member who sported a feather, who eventually was crested with the nickname of Feathers. Most were, when they referred to the group’s leader. He looked at the food, now tapping one charred end against his weathered fingers. “And, what did he do to give you that impression.” The man chuckled, “other than speak to you.” 

Nerida flicked a look at him, resisting the urge to stare at the fish. Why couldn’t he hurry up and eat it or just leave. “He kicked sand in my face.” The statement was blunt, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Boreal pursed his lips together as he adjusted, securing the end of the stick into the sand. 

“Aye,” His eyes shone like the stars in the sky. “I saw that, right after I saw ye give him a mouthful of it.” He laughed, low and gruff as Nerida bobbed her head to the side; her hair brushing against her cheeks. She didn’t look at Boreal again until she felt his fingers dig into her binds. He loosened them, pulled her arms to the front, and twisted the slack around his fist before laying back in the sand. “I suppose you need hands to eat…” He closed his eyes, his hands supporting his head. “And I sure as damn won't be feeding ya so-” 

Nerida would’ve refused but that night, her pride lost and soon she found herself biting into the flaky meat of the fish much faster than she would've liked. She only stopped to clear her throat, nearly choking on a piece she hadn’t chewed enough. Once it was nothing but bones and a head, the women slowed down. “Thanks.” She whispered, shifting her shoulders as she wiped at her face. It was so faint, the man questioned if he had heard it at all.

Boreal glanced at her, watched as she plucked the eyes from the head and popped them into her mouth. He sat up, an arm resting on his bent knee, as her fingers clawed at the gills. She scooped them out with ease, as if she had done it thousands of times and tilted her head back ever so slightly as she dropped them into her mouth. Grimacing, Boreal put his fingers to his temple. “If you are that hungry, I can simply fetch ye another one.” He hadn’t planned on giving her another but she had disgusted him into kindness. 

She licked at her fingers before snapping a bone off and sucking on it. Her eyes drifted to her side, landing on Boreal’s dark brown ones. “What’s with that face?” She twisted to better gaze at the man. “Have you never had fish eyes and gills before?” It was her turn to look distrubed. When Boreal scrunched his nose she added in a flurry. “How could you not?! That is so wasteful.” She huffed, pulling the bone from her mouth. “The eyes are the perfect dessert. Not to mention they are good for your health! The gills are just as edible as the rest.” She pointed at the man, her brows digging into her eyes. “People fight over the eyes they are so great, not only that but it is inviting of bad omens to just...toss them away!” she flung her hands into the air, continuing. “And you call yourself a pirate?! A man of the sea? I’m positive you’ve done some nasty shit and you don’t eat fish eyes?” Nerida jutted her chin out, questioning this man’s entire existence. 

Boreal blinked blankly before laughing. He stood, not bothering to dust the sand from his clothes and hair, and tugged at Nerida. Hesitantly, she stood; the man practically dragging her to the campsite to join the others. Silence fell on the group as Boreal sat on a fallen log and motioned Nerida to join him. “Alright men, this creature-” He jabbed a thumb at his captive. “Eats fucking fish eyes.” One man made a gagging face as many looked on questionably. “And says, we aint no real pirates, aye- real men, because we don’t go around sucking damn eyeballs out of fish sockets.” 

Most laughed, the older crew members a little nervously. “So, what that means is that we here are gonna eat some eyes because I will not be stood up by some little girl.” The man snatched a fish from the side of the fire and dug his finger into a socket, the jelly substance popping as he ruptured it. Nerida had made it look too easy. At the commotion, Crawford weighted down her papers and examined the group as the others that were still awake wondered back over. They returned to Nerida explaining how to properly remove the eye without breaking it. 

Crawford frowned so deeply, she resembled a fish herself. “What on God’s earth are you doing…?” She gasped as Boreal smacked the eye into his mouth, slowly chewing. His face eased into surprise before he licked at his fingers, nodding.

“It’s actually not that bad.” Now, more curious than disgusted, some of the other men tried it too; few of them disliking the flavor or the texture of the crunchy center. When one was offered to Crawford, she silently put up a hand and returned to her work. Andres plopped down in the sand, a little too close to the fire and too drunk to remember in the morning. 

Eventually, the night wound down. The drunkest of the men sleeping where they landed. Nerida was forced to sleep in the sand, nothing but a shabby cloth protecting her from the night’s air. The end of her rope had been tied to the wrist of Boreal, an additional one connecting their ankles, to ensure she wouldn’t slip away in the night. 

_________________

Boreal, per usual, was one of the first to awake. His eyes opening as soon as the first glimmer of light touched the horizon. Meaning, that on this particular day, Nerida was also one of the first to wake up. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her hair sticking in all directions and colored from the sand. Boreal made no comment as he unfastened their ankles, not bothering to put his boots on yet. The sands were still cool from the touch of the moon, yet to be scorched from the sun's embrace. The pirate stood, grabbing Nerida by the wrist and pulling her to her feet. 

“Don’t cause trouble.” His voice rumbled, the sound like rocks grinding against each other. “And I wont tie ya to the crate.” The rope stayed tied to his wrist, bounding the two, as the man walked over to Crawford’s table. The first mate having returned to her chambers upon the ship. Boreal picked up a paper, yawning as he examined it. Nerida peaked around his shoulder, her breath on his arm. 

The map was eons more detailed than the last time she had seen it. She thought it looked quite professional, not that she had seen many professional maps in her days. Not usable ones at least, the wealth of information they held usually washed away by the sea, burned, or merely handled poorly. In the corner of the map sat a beautifully done compass, the lines crisp enough to slice to a person bone. Nerida had never seen lettering like that before, not a single crooked or wobbly stroke to be found. Nestled underneath was an unfinished key and yet further down a measurement scale. 

Her eyes fanned over the rest of the parchment, distance markers dotting the surface, then Boreal returned it to where he found it before walking away; tugging Nerida with him. “She’s really impressive.” The captive voiced, skipping a step to close the distance between the two. “That woman could be a scholar if she wanted to be.” Nerida tapped her jaw. “Or an artist! Maybe…” Boreal glanced at her but said nothing. He continued to walk the area, kicking sailers awake as he went. 

“Oh, by the way...did you ever find out what that loud bang was yesterday?” She tilted her head as she asked, her thumb finding its way to her mouth; the nail between her teeth. 

Boreal hummed, rubbed at his forehead. “Some fucking idoit set off a barral of gun powder.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, peeved that such a mistake was made. From behind them, Feathers came trotting down the ship ramp. It was early in the morning yet, some of the animals yet to stir, but here was this man; fully dressed, groomed, and chriper. He was even wearing his hat. 

“Ah, Captain!” He called out, waving at the two as they turned to face him. Confusion pulled at Nerida’s features. Why was the captain calling Boreal captain? Could a ship have two captains? Was it a weird pirate thing? Nerida doubted that last thought, her gaze switching between the two men. 

“Jonah.” Boreal greeted him, offering a wave of his own. Jonah opened his mouth to speak only to be interrupted by Nerida. 

“You’re…” She pointed at Feathers. “You’re not the captain?” Her voice was small, unsure. Boreal gave a lopsided smile as he crossed his arms all while Jonah roared with laughter. Her face blossomed red as Nerida chewed on the inside of her mouth. 

“Ha! No, what gave you that idea? Who said that I was?” Jonah adjusted his hat.

“Well!...look at you!” She gestured to him. “You look like a classic pirate and you dress the best so I just assumed…” 

Jonah pulled at the hem of his jacket, the day not yet warm enough to warrant him removing it. “Ah, yes. I am an amazing dresser and this,” He waved down his body. “It is a classic look. Mere islanders wouldn’t understand it.” He boasted, Nerida’s eyes dipping in annoyance. 

“Enough fun.” Boreal interjected, dropping his arms to his sides. “This happens all the time and I care not to correct others. As long as my crew knows who is in charge, that’s all that matters.” The man sighed as Nerida’s gaze lingered on him. “Besides, where is Crawford? I want to make headway today...see where local tribes may be, figure out gear and the such. I want to be heading out by midday no later. Go find her and send her my way.” He barked, waving off his subordinate. 

Nerida’s face paled. “Why bother the locals? What do you want from them?” Her heart raced as she picked at the skin around her nails. 

“For information...supplies.” He finally looked at her. “Maybe if a certain somebody were to aid us...it would go over smoothly.” His voice was flat, lacking in malic but the threat not lost. Nerida frowned, a glare stabbing into the man as they returned to Crawfords table. 

“Look, I’ll guide you wherever it is you want to go okay!” She rounded his side and tapped her chest, eyes frantic. “Just leave the natives alone.” Nerida locked her jaw, eyes trembling despite her resolve. “I’ll help with whatever else too, just promise.” 

Boreal stared down at the women, clicked his tongue and grinned. 

“I suppose it’s a deal then.”