When Celysia slid down from the crow's nest, her feet landed on the deck without a sound. She went up and down more than a dozen times every day and knew it better than walking stairs.
Her modified rifle hung diagonally across her back, the fine scratches on its stock gleaming with a dull bronze sheen in the afternoon sun.
"There's a ship!"
Dean had been leaning against the rail, wiping a scabbard with an oilcloth. His fingers stopped, and he looked up.
"What flag?"
"Never seen it before. Red on top, white below, like a fan." Celysia narrowed her eyes and memorized every detail of the pattern.
"It's not a big ship, but it's sitting deep in the water. Moving slowly too. A fully loaded cargo vessel."
Lane had been lying on his back on the deck, using the base of the cannon mount Ram had just repaired as a pillow. At those words, he rolled over and sat up.
Barefoot, he walked to the rail, raised a hand over his eyes, and peered toward the northern sea. His amber pupils shrank to pinpricks of gold beneath the blazing noon sun.
Sure enough, a medium-sized sailing ship sat on the distant horizon. The flag atop its mast had been fully unfurled by the sea breeze, dark red on the upper half and pure white below, like an open folding fan.
"See what I was saying?" Lane grinned, the slightly pointed canine in his mouth flashing in the sunlight.
"Isn't that ready-made supplies?"
Ram rose from the rail and silently walked into the cabin.
When he came back out, he carried several curved swords, their scabbards still stained with salt from their last boarding battle.
One by one, he tossed the blades to his companions on deck.
Celysia caught one