The ceaseless squawking of seagulls overhead had been a noise that Smokestep had drown out long ego. From birth, he had experienced their vexatious cries, but a year had treated him kindly. The pale wolf trotted lazily down the beach in search of his pack mates; a pair of mismatched optics sought the figures that he knew well enough, but it had been some time since he’d seen his good friend Raptor and Roz had not been fond of chatting after their last fight. Instead, he followed the pesky birds to a humorous situation that left him chuckling quietly to himself.
 
The quiet woman he had called Hex seemed to have found the carcass of a young sea lion that had washed ashore. She was in the process of feasting and fighting away the keen birds that fluttered over her head. Each snap of her fangs proved to be an intense gesture of displeasure for their company. He moved toward her before chuffing to announce his presence. “Ahoy, lass,” he called with a cheeky smile. “Would ye like somethin’ fresher?”

Hex’s warning growl was not necessary, as Smokestep had already imagined he should have stood a respectful distance from her while she fed. He noted that her frame did not look nearly as starved as it had upon meeting her, and he was pleased that she had found some health within his walls. The Captain knew her type well enough; there were plenty of the feral kind on his father’s home islands, so he had grown around them and found ways to keep them pleased. Hex would have been the same, but he wanted to try to coax something more out of her. She was sharp as a tack and her instincts were unmatched, but he wanted to test her tongue.
 
“Ye settlin’ in alright, Hex?” the pallid man inquired to her with a small smile. Smokestep could see that she was reaching her fill of game, so he opted not to ask her if she would like more to eat just yet. 

It was merely unfortunate circumstance that Hex wasn’t fond of speaking, or the types of things that went along with speaking. Smokestep was so well versed in the art, he could have run circles around half the Teekon wilds if he so desired and still have enough to say about the state of the world for the second half. It was difficult for him to try to bond with a pack member that was so reliant on only her instinct and ability. He thought that if you couldn’t boast about it, what was the point in doing much of anything? Believing this and still seeing that she had changed some in her time within the Ironsea ranks. It was good to know that the crew was capable of sustaining itself, in spite of all their differences.
 
Smokestep inched closer toward her, casting aside any wary glance she would fire at him. He breathed a deep-rooted sigh and then fixed her with his gaze and a small frown. “Ye could at least pretent yer more excited, eh? I know ye ain’t fond o’ speakin’, but has anyone given ye trouble fer it?” the Captain inquired with a more serious note in his voice. Smokestep wanted to be sure that she was being tended to and not bothered for her lacking a voice.

Try as he might, Smokestep was not capable of making his interactions with the girl called Hex any more comfortable than they were at that moment. He felt flustered, sinking his paws into the sand of the bay, and watched as she regarded him with a wild expression before moving away from his figure. He followed her with his gaze, but did not move from his spot, and frowned as she mulled about to pick at whatever was on the ground. Smokestep watched her with some moderate interest, knowing that she wasn’t going to be fond of speaking with him any time soon. He had worked hard to build a home for her, though, and he only wished that she enjoyed it. The pallid boy had promised her a home and constant supply of food, and he had done nothing short of accomplishing it.
 
With a chuff, Smokestep attempted to catch her attention. He moved a few feet away from her and then gestured with his muzzle for her to follow him. There was something he wanted to show her that would – perhaps – ease her mind when around him. If not, it was the final piece of his promise to her; food. The young Captain waited for the mute to see if she would humor him in this.

Hex followed him with her treasure clasped in her mouth. Smokestep could not help but to smile as he glanced over his shoulder. Somehow, the less verbal he could be with her, the better she seemed to react. He did not want to create a confusing environment for any of his crew. They were the life blood of his pack, of his dream, and he wanted only for them to feel as though they were secure in the bay. The wolves of Ironsea would always be his priority; he was their Captain and he wanted them to know that he was only there to make sure they had as luxurious of a life as possible. Of course, there were those who would counter that his promise of a swift death would deter most from leaving. The corsair was not bothered by this; it was merely in place to prevent those few passersby who would take advantage of their hospitality and free-living ways before striking the next pack that fancied them. Within the walls of the Ironsea crew, loyalty was a prize sought by all.
 
Weaving a bit with his nose toward the sands, he made his way up and inland a short distance before he circled a few times in the same five-foot space and stopped. Craning his neck to make sure that Hex was still hot at his heels, the pallid young Captain reached out with his nose and pushed aside a leafy green lid that gave way to a small cache in the cold of the clay. Underneath the small housing were two hares and a small slew of fish that had been caught. Smokestep peered at the ink-splotched female and nodded his head toward it. “That’s fer ye, lass. Made ye a promise to keep ye fed,” he rattled on with a small shrug.  

Hexe seemed surprised that there was food there, but Smokestep didn’t know that she had combed the beach in search of morsels. He’d known only that he knew the bay better than most of his crew and that he was capable of keeping things well hidden, if need be. Since he’d wanted no one else to find the cache, it only made sense that Hexe would also not be allowed to know where it was. He’d wanted it filled to the brim for her. As lackadaisical as he was, the young pirate was an over achiever in most things. If he was going to do something, he was going to put his heart and soul into everything that it took. While the cache was mostly full, he had struggled with some of the last pieces to offer her. Primarily food from the ocean, there were a few straggly hares and a mangled turkey in there as well. It wasn’t intended for the rest of the pack; it was for Hexe.
 
Feeling that she would rather be left alone, Smokestep shuffled his paws awkwardly before he nodded his head to her. “Right, well, er… hope ye enjoy it, Hex,” he offered in a softer voice. There was a single swing of his tail before the pallid young Captain turned and roamed toward the trees that stood at the far southern end of the bay. He sought the shade to clear his mind and to escape the heat that stretched down from a high sun overhead.