Sequoia Coast show no mercy

"Arrr!" Blurry snarled at a fallen gull. It had died in midair—a heart attack or some other stupid bird problem—and fallen into the sea, where it was carried to shore, to be found by a veritable bilge rat. His lips stretched into a long, thin grin as he pranced up to the soggy carcass, swinging his thick tail merrily. It wasn't a hearty meal, but it was better than the pinchy barnacles and the days old salt fish he'd found earlier, so it was certainly an improvement over the current provisions.

He fished it out of the water, holding it with surprising tenderness between his yellowed and half-rotten teeth, and made a half turn before he caught sight of a fellow striding along the beach. The swab dropped his fare and placed a skinny paw on it, as if he of all pirates was intimidating enough to keep it, and he shot a jeer at the approaching coywolf. "Ahoy, matey," he called out, pricking his ears in hopes Roach would respond in kind. "Wha' brings ye down me way, bucko? Ain't ye heard, these waters be those of Cap'n Blackbeard, mos' a-feared pirate king o' the seven seas!"

He would've prattled on, singing Ferahgo's praises, had his eyes not caught upon another, and his nose not hooked the scent of female. His jeer widened and he stepped forward, forgetting all about his drowned gull, as his attention shifted to the maiden in the near distance. "Avast, lass," he said, and then with a perverted snort, he asked, "ye care for a swabbin', wench?" Blurryface cared for a swabbing, so much that he continued stepping forward as if he had already been invited.

But of course, pirates didn't need invites to do whatever they liked to any wench.