Wheeling Gull Isle What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine

Maude. The name did ring a bell, at least, not immediately. But it dawned on him most suddenly, the pairing of a decidedly feminine name with the not so feminine body before him, and then Ferahgo groaned, raising a paw to swipe across his muzzle in a wolfish facepalm. "Maude... right, right," he muttered. Of all the luck; there were many capable crew back in Tortuga that could have come here to aid in his expansion, but of the two who made it, one ate all the rum and then disappeared, and the other, he recalled, was more crazy than the sort of crazy he expected. But, loyal it seemed, and that bought him a lot (relatively speaking) of tolerance from Ferahgo.

"Eh? Ye followed me all the way here, an' ye come empty-pawed?" The Captain sniffed and flicked his tail. "Go find me something useful. Something I can eat, or put in me coffer, and don't come back until ye do." He shooed Maude with his paw, seating himself to wait, for some undetermined amount of time.