Swiftcurrent Creek [j] the king and his men

Oh, that’s it Cutthroat return to the wolves that threatened to kill you and ask to become apart of their pack, because that’s a stellar idea! The inky pirate thought with a venomous amount of sarcasm in the hopes of chiding himself for his own stupidity. Cutthroat shrank back as another - also recognized as one of the ones that had joined in on the fight that night - came bearing down upon him, nothing but hostility. It was well earned, Cutthroat knew. The newest male held an impressive growl, relentless, apparently relinquishing the necessity to breathe, Cutthroat thought with sour cynicism knowing this was no time for witty remarks. It was almost astonishing to the inky teenager how he could still manage wit (even if it didn’t dare leave his lips) at a time such as this. The fire kissed female that had attacked Corsair came barging onto the scene as well, reminiscent of the way they had all melted or rather flung themselves out of the shadows around the Blackflag wolves. She addressed him in a hostile hiss, filled also, he rather thought, with an accusation. Not that Cutthroat could blame her. Or any of them; and no matter how badly he wanted to defend his life - the instincts to fight or flight had began to hum in his veins - Cutthroat also realized that he had no right too. After all, what kind of idiot went back to a pack that had threatened his life? Obviously, it spoke unflattering volumes about Cutthroat, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

There was another death threat - a reminder and a command to explain himself. He lowered his eyes and wondered if facing this was better than facing Cutlass’ and Corsair’s ire. Now, he wasn’t so sure. For a moment Cutthroat wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to be explaining aside from the fact that he was guilty, and confused and that he was generally surprised he could tell his face from his bum?; gradually he began to feel the pressure and all that rode upon his words like a crushing weight atop his shoulders as three pairs of eyes looked at him as if he were a devil of the seas. Maybe he was. “I’m sorry,” It was too late for apologizes, too late for regrets but it was imperative, somehow, that he spoke of his genuine remorse before he was killed. “I know it probably means nothin’ to you. I didn’t know that …that things were going to happen like that,” But Cutthroat thought that really didn’t matter now because they had happened like that. “I guess …that I want to atone for it. For what they - for what happened.” Even if it meant his death, then so be it.

“So if it means I have to walk the plank to atone then do it.” By walk the plank he meant be killed, but there was something more comforting for the inky teenage Pirate to say 'walk the plank' then there was in saying "kill me if you must".