The young Captain had tried his best to keep up with his crew and make sure they knew he was an active presence in their lives. He hoped that he could invest enough of his time that they would grow attached to their new lives as wild creatures of the sea. He wanted the same unyielding respect as the wolves of the Fenriver crew – those who had taught him the ways of the pirate. There were few things that the nomadic crew did that Smokestep would never agree with, but he had always been awed at the admiration felt for their Captain. He’d called himself Kellam the Fierce, and Smokestep had been enthralled with the silver-coated man. He had dutifully followed them, drinking in the knowledge of their culture until it had been embedded in his bones and he could not imagine another way of living.
 
Having been so heavily inspired by such a profound leader, he had hoped to embolden his own crew with the same manner of guidance. He prowled across the sands, feeling the sun beat down against his back for the first time in several long months, and breathed in the taste of the sea water and brine. There had been quite a few of them around the pack, stocking the caches and teaching each other the ropes. He’d been able to touch bases with most of them, save for one of the first lasses he had spoken to upon founding the pack. With a keen eye, the young Captain searched for signs of Godot along the beach front.

It took only a few moments for the young pirate to catch sight of the red and white female. She appeared to be wrestling quite avidly with a large stick that was lodged deep in the waters. The Captain watched her for a few minutes as she struggled with the thing, her frustration showing in her movements. Were it not for the fire that fueled her, he might have laughed. Instead, Smokestep found it refreshing to see the kind of fuel that fed her. She was persistent and resilient in her desires; these were traits that not everyone seemed to possess. Godot lashed her tail before darting back toward the gnarled stick and fastening her teeth to it. He kept himself at a short distance while she tangoed with the sunken item. After Hexe had arrived and joined the crew, the young Captain had reminded himself that his tendency to draw close to others was not always welcome. The boy thought it best to allow Godot room to work her ways.
 
There was a familiar itch in the length of his limbs, though. The more he watched, the pricklier he found himself growing. Smokestep had always been fond of spars, and even more so with a feisty and willing partner. When he had first arrived, the pirate had found himself a few worthy adversaries. He had even offered one of them a place in his crew but had not seen the ruddy form of the brown wolf since his first meeting. When it appeared as though Godot might have budged the limb, he lowered his torso to the sand and huffed an encouragement. The stick did not seem to budge from its position. It was almost painful for him to see her try as hard as she was and not succeed. Then again, it was easy to see it that way as a spectator.

The frustration that was written across her features was enough to be felt. Smokestep cast her an encouraging smile that lifted the sides of his features as he trotted toward her and closed some of the distance between them. Once nearer to where she was, he was able to more closely examine the large protruding hunk of tree. Smokestep was a people pleaser, and he didn’t want to let the girl down. Taking a few sniffs, he plunged his head into the sea and peered at where it had been lodged into the sand and ocean, firmly rooting itself in a place where it did not belong. Once he pulled his crown from the waters, he looked at her with rapidly blinking eyes and shook his head to release droplets back to the swell.
 
“Looks like it’s in there deep, aye? Ye’ve got some strength in ye. Color me impressed,” the pirate remarked to her with a quick grin. “Let’s see if I can give it a dig while ye tug, an maybe we’ll get this thing loose,” he then suggested with a firm nod. Smokestep had been trained young to hold his breath beneath the water, so he wasn’t concerned with being down there too long. It did seem as though he found some worry in the idea that he would need to dig at sand that was soaked through and likely to fall back where it had been pulled from. Still, he felt encouraged by her spirit and wanted to assist as best as he could.