Wheeling Gull Isle Not sure who I am

Maude was disappointed by the size of the crew. A frown, unnatural on her always smiling or sneering or snarling face, held fast as she sniffed the air. Nothing but wenches. It disgusted her that Ferahgo, the greatest captain in Tortuga, was left with this pittance of a crew. Maude kicked a stone on the sandy shores of the ship, combing the seaside for food or booty. She was still frustrated, but what else could she do? She was no recruiter or scout or anything. She was simply a lackey. A confused one at that.

The rugged brown creature, seeing movement in an isolated pool near her, darted forward, fangs bared in a lunge. Her impromptu attack proved a failure, however, as her jaws clicked together and she tasted salt water and sand. Spitting in disgust, Maude sat on her haunches, staring down at her paws, frustrated.