As Isla headed away from the Earl's estate, she was shrouded in anger, the emotion smothering all others beneath it. Trailing behind her were four shadows in the forms of Hawk and the three men who had acted as lookouts. Their presence was as heavy as the weight of their eyes.

Though the empty streets of the city should have made it feel like it was theirs for the taking, the blackened window eyes and locked doors were reminders that Isla and the crew had overstayed their welcome. It was time to flee with their failure.

The only glow came from the windows to the tenant house where silent eyes waited. The weakness in Isla urged her to bypass the building, leave behind the sailors, make for the port and board the ship, where she would be left alone with only herself and her failure. But the man in the brig proved even then she wouldn't be able to outrun this night.

From within the tavern room, Isla could hear the murmur of conversation, idle chatter as men waited for the news of their freedom. The low rumble of it tightened the knot in her stomach. When she opened the door, the room fell quiet as if holding its breath. She stepped into the light and met the eyes of a dozen sailors. The anger that had been burning hot in her chest was extinguished.

She said nothing, for nothing needed to be said. All the words she would give them were plainly written her face as well as the faces of the men behind her. As one, chairs ground against the wooden floor as all the men rose to leave. Their emotions were tucked behind masks honed from years. It made no difference, Isla had known these men her whole life and saw it all in the slope of their shoulders and the way they wouldn't fully meet her gaze. Disappointment. Weariness. Resignation.

As they filed out the door, Isla looked to the pair in the back. Bin had Mara wrapped in his arms and was whispering something in her ear. When they pulled away, Mara's face crumpled with sadness. As Bin forced himself to let go of his wife, Mara searched for Isla. Before she could catch her eye, Isla turned away, not able to bear the weight of one more person's disappointment.

The crew slipped into the night, no more than shadows to a city that would no longer have them.  Waiting for them at the ship, was the rest of the men. None had slept, none could have. At the sight of the silent, somber mass, they left the railing and prepared to set sail. Aboard, Isla gave into a piece of her weakness and let Hawk take the wheel. The need to work with her hands was equal to the desire she had to let loose her frustration on Raif, a manifestation of all that had gone wrong.

As she climbed into the rigging, the wind snapped at her clothes. She added her nimble fingers to those of the other sailors as they worked at knots and escaped into the night. Behind them, the West Isles was a silhouette against the sky, a hollow echo of the hope it had been upon its first sighting. As easily as they had come, the ship cut through the water, stealing away with the tide. Isla worked the ropes, trying to banish the heaviness of unspoken things and her own emotions.

Against all her intentions, she had let herself hope and that hope had stabbed her in the back.

The ship dipped, the motion making Isla sway as the waves carried them along. The sails tumbled free and snatched the wind, increasing their departure. Holding onto one of the lines, Isla stood on the top castle, staring at the retreating land. Below her, she could hear patter the footsteps, but there was no hum of voices.

Instead of descending, she climbed higher to the crow's nest. Roland stood stationed at his post. Despite the height, she knew he was aware of the night's turn of events. Like the others, he said nothing and hid his feelings within himself.

Isla leaned forward, resting her arms on the railing. The sea was a landscape of indigo lashed with silver from the winking moon. As she gazed out on the breathing landscape, a roughened hand came to settle on her shoulder. Twisting her head, she met the steady eyes of Roland.

"Elbow down," Roland said.

Face scowling in concentration, Isla lowered her elbow. The bow was heavy in her grip, the smooth wood tugging against her strength. The string in her six-year-old hand was taut and she could feel the power behind it. The feathers of the arrow tickled her cheek. In the corner of her eye, she saw Zev watching, his blue eyes offering encouragement to his daughter. Roland crouched beside Isla.

"The arrow is a part of you," he said, his voice holding a strange airy quality to it that always made Isla think of the wind whistling through the sails. "When you breathe out, you're going to release it. Ready?"

She nodded, the bow quivering with the action.

"Breath out and release."

Isla did, the arrow shot forward as the string snapped back into place. The arrowhead hit the wood a foot off its mark. Disappointed, Isla dropped her arms. Zev clapped and hoisted himself off the rail to move towards her.

"Well done, Little Wander," her father said.

"I didn't hit the mark," Isla said, lowering her gaze.

As Roland retrieved the arrow, Zev sank into a squat before her.

"No, you didn't, but it got closer than it ever has."

Roland stopped just behind his Captain's shoulder.

"And what is it that every archer knows?" Zev said, twisting back to regard Roland.

Roland smiled a rare sight that accentuated the boyishness of his face.

"Every good archer will tell you that it's not about the number of shots you miss but the one that hits the target."

Roland nodded to Isla as if that memory was the one drifting through his mind as well. He did not repeat the words, it was enough that she already knew them.

*********

The day dawned a slate gray. A thick patchwork of smokey white, ash, and granite clouds blanketed the sky. The ocean was a sheet of malleable metal. The weak morning light found Isla already dressed and staring out on the endless expanse. The ship rocked gently with the rhythm of the waves.

Behind her the deck was quiet. The crew had slept most of the day before and half the night. There was no need to be at hand with the ship anchored off a distant shore. Isla stared out on the isolated island, making out the blur of trees and a sandy beach. The ghost of her father stood beside her, erected through the weight of her failure and the decision before her.

The tapping of boots pierced her solitude. Hawk took up the position beside her, dispersing the ghost. The two companions said nothing for a long while.

"Did you or Sparrow discover anything about our...spy?" she asked, unable to meet his gaze.

Hawk contemplated his hands, the fingers callused and the backs lined with scars.

"As far as we could tell, there was nothing out of the ordinary in any of the crew's movements."

Isla let out a breath, finding a touch of reassurance. Having to think that one of the crew had been acting against them felt like an anvil on her chest.

"Maybe it is chance that Jakks has been at the same ports." Finally, she looked to Hawk, wanting him to agree and let the matter drop. But there was a grimness to his face that knocked the optimism from Isla.

"It is merely one port," he said. "I don't think it's wise to turn our backs on this knowledge at the first chance."

Isla faced the water again, hating the bite of rebuke though she could clearly see the logic in what he said. The risk of having a spy among them was too great to ignore evidence that was before them. Armoring herself against the guilt of doubting her father's men, she nodded.

"Of course."

They lapsed into silence once again, watching the silvery surface bend and fold. Droplets hung in the air, latching onto hair and brushing against skin. From below the low thump of rising sailors was heard. It was joined by the smell of breakfast, a scent that was surely the cause for the sailors stirring awake.

"Have you reconsidered your plan for today?" Hawk asked.

"I haven't."

Hearing the unwavering resolve in her tone. Hawk said nothing. Isla remained where she was as the ship took on life and the deck filled with conversations. It was late morning by the time the crew was all assembled up top. As Isla motioned for Brockton to follow her, voices dimmed, all eyes on the pair as they descended.

When Isla pushed the brig door open, Raif raised his head. He was leaning over his knees. It was clear from the circles under his eyes that sleep hadn't come to him. At the sight of Isla, he straightened.

"You never would have believed me if I said I had no knowledge of where the Emerald was," he said.

All that Isla offered to this confession was a dead stare. The anger that had been kindled two nights previous had burned down to a hard, unyielding stone. Raif swallowed and leaned forward, his face strained. When Isla didn't respond, he continued.

"I was in the middle of retrieving the Emerald again for the Earl, but had not discovered its new location yet."

Again Isla acted as if he hadn't spoken at all. Instead, she moved forward and unlocked his cuffs. They fell away with a metallic thunk. Surprise and a bit of relief flickered in Raif's eyes as he massaged feeling back into his wrists.

When he stood, ready to leave, Brockton took his arm and placed a new set of shackles on him. Raif's gaze cut to Isla, who was waiting for his shock and met it with impassivity. When he could decipher nothing from her, he looked to Brockton, searching for the inquisitive man that had listened to his tales. What he found was a statue.

"Do you understand what you are doing?" Raif asked.

The pair answered with stony silence. Gripping Raif's upper arm, Brockton led him out of the brig and up the flight of stairs. As they stepped out, Raif squinted, his eyes needing to adjust to even the dull light. A sober mass waited for the trio. Raif's gaze darted from the hard-faced men to the water and to the island that lay in the distance before it landed back on Isla.

"You plan to leave me on that island," he said, clenching his fists to control himself, though the fear in his eyes betrayed him.

Without answering, Isla gestured to two sailors. They approached, a plank of wood held between them. After laying it in the opening - usually meant for the gangway - they stood on it, keeping it in place with their combined weight. As Brockton tugged Raif towards the makeshift gangplank, he fought against him, twisting to Isla.

"My father will come for you," he said.

She blinked at him and offered nothing more. Brockton nudged Raif closer to the opening, every eye pinned on the captive and the encroaching end.

"I will not be able to swim to that island with these," Raif said, holding up the shackles that were joined together by a thick chain.

"No," she said. "I don't imagine you will."

The true reality of what Isla intended to do struck Raif. He clenched his jaw and Isla could see him fighting to remain calm and in control. The fire of resistance flared in his eyes, turning the gray into a raging storm.

"You can not do this."

Isla narrowed her eyes at him, her own eyes blazing with renewed anger. Tension crackled between them, though they both knew where the power lay. As if proving it, Isla waved her hand to Brockton. Raif was dragged the remaining distance to the plank and shoved onto it. He staggered, almost losing his balance making the watching crew lean forward.

But when he managed to regain his footing, the men eased back. Facing the horde of sailors, Raif glared at Isla, though his balled fists were shaking.

"I was close, you know," he said, the fear in his voice giving away the fact that his words were more than a taunt but a veiled plea. "I had a lead in Oxley with a collector. I was on my way when you kidnapped me. I can take you to him."

At the last sentence, Isla felt a malicious spark of satisfaction, knowing she had brought this man to his knees. The wind picked up, buffeting Raif, tearing at his clothes. For one breathless moment, he held Isla's stare needing to see that there was a way to survive this.

"Drop him," she said.

Fear widened Raif's eyes as the two sailors took one foot off the plank. It tipped and Raif crashed into the water with a loud splash. The sound of his gasp of surprise was left drifting on the air. Isla stored away the pure shock of his expression, letting it soothe her anger.

Quiet radiated from the crew as they all stared at the spot the noblemen had once been.

Then Sparrow burst out laughing and the stillness shattered.

Gales of laughter rang around the deck as men leaned into each other for support, arms clutching stomaches. The burdens of disappointment, weariness, and resignation were banished, sent flying over the waves. Only Hawk and Isla didn't join in, though the curl in the corner of Hawk's lips and the gleam in his eyes told of amusement.

"Heath, go retrieve him," Isla said.

Still beaming, the stout, muscular man dived over the railing. Despite the solidity of his form, he cut through the water with barely a sound, a rope trailing out behind him like a strange tail. The two sailors by the edge retracted the plank and went to stand by the diminishing coil.

When there was a loud intake of air, the crew surged to the railing and peered over. Supported by Heath was Raif, his lungs hacking up salt water. The pair were hauled up and Raif collapsed to the deck, his body shaking. Spurts of laughter still echoed around the group.

When Isla stepped over to Raif, he glanced up. His hair was matted to his face making him looked like a drowned rat. It was his eyes that told it all. In the subdued gray was a new sort of understanding.

"I can...help you get the...Emerald..." he breathed out.

Isla studied him and he waited. Instead of accepting, she waved her hand to Brockton.

"Take him back to the brig," she said.

Still staring at her, Raif allowed himself to be hoisted up to his feet and ushered away. Hawk took the spot beside Isla, both of them watching their prisoner disappear.

"What is our next step?" he asked.

Mulling over Raif's offer, Isla headed for the helm.

"We sail to Caterrum. From there we will make a new plan."

**********************************************************************

Blast you! I was already awake!

*falls on the floor laughing* I'm sorry, but that was too great. Raif walking the plank! Hahaha classic. Let's face it, it wouldn't have been a real pirate's story if at least one person hadn't walked the plank.

How are you feeling about it all? Feeling like laughing with the crew or giving Raif a towel because you feel for him? Honestly, I think you can do both. Why not? Any ways share thy thoughts, my dear fellow! 🗯💭💬

Okay, I want to talk to you about bears. Yeah, yeah I know it's a weird subject but just bear with me.

It was not that bad! It was bearly a pun! Fine, I'll paws so you can groan.

Haha sorry, couldn't help myself! But seriously I do want to talk about bears. I mean they have the dream life, right? They stuff themselves for months on end and then sleep for months! Gosh who wouldn't want that life!

Somedays I feel like I could sleep for months on end. You ever have that feeling?

Otázka kapitoly (Slovak): If you only had a week left to live what would you do?

Vote for grizzles, comment on teddies, and follow...well not bears cause that can't end well for you.