Wheeling Gull Isle Castaways and Cutouts

Yo ho, it's a pirate's life for me...  For @Ferahgo

The sea was a foul mistress, undiscriminating in her unwavering cruelty. Her calmness to they eye was unbecoming of the strength that lurked beneath the gentle lap of waves against her sandy beaches. She spit ashore a bounty of carrion, rejected from her watery embrace.  Among these bodies to line the south-western shore of Wheeling Gull Island was a curious cargo. A wolf lay sprawled in the shore-break, limbs splayed forward as he periodically tumbed in place with each passing wave until he was eventually carried by the current to the shore. The wolf remained still, rooted in the sand like a corpse.

Consciousness did not return gently. The wolf's orange eyes sprang open, flush with fear as his body underwent a full system reset. He sputtered and gasped, wretching the water from his lungs as he desperately clung to life. The cold water burned with painful intensity and his body temperature had dropped to the bare threshold. Confusion took hold, and the wolf could not remember as to how he ended up on the shore in the first place. But, as he crawled forward on his belly, wretching all the way, the castaway could not be bothered to try to recall the events that led him here. Base instict was all that remained in the blank slate that was his mind; he would survive.

Perched atop the crow's nest, Ferahgo studied his new ship, and mentally catalogued the rutters of all the features that it held. It was a fine ship indeed, and he was pleased with its fine and with its christening. He watched as his crew moved about it, inspecting it for themselves. Each would need to find their own bunk and coffer, but together a suitable galley would need to be chosen. He himself needed his own quarters.

But that would have to wait.

Movement on the distant shore of the mainland caught his bone-colored eye. He thought he had been looking at carrion, but carrion did not shuffle down the coast. Hmm. The plank was still above the sea. Ferahgo slipped down from the peak of the rocky hill and went ashore. He saw that the moving flotsam was, in fact, a wolf. A sorry looking wolf, but a wolf, who reeked of bile and salt.

"Ye scurvy thing," intoned Ferahgo as he came to stand before the miserable creature. "Ye seen better days, ain't ye? Eh? Sea's not friendly, is it now, matey?" He sniggered.

The wolf's stomach continued to lurch and he retched once more, but having exhausted it's contents into the sand a few paces back, his heaves turned dry and empty. A wheezing, rattling cough took the place of the sound of gagging as he continued to inch forward and away from the foul sea. Breathing was difficult after escaping the sea's suffocating grip, but the wolf found it possible and was grateful for the quick and shallow breaths that filled his lungs with air; with life.  

His head still swam with confusion and he hardly noticed the approach of another wolf from across the beach. The castaway looked upward, but avoided making contact with the captain's eyes. Instead, his confused gaze shifted around the beach and territory that lay behind him. 

The stranger's strange way of speaking initally confused the wolf. "What?" he sputtered, but his word was carried away with a rasping cough. Eventually, the stranger's words clicked into place and the wolf responded, "Nah, she's a foul bitch." It was evident to the wolf that he had been swept away by the sea, but for what reason, he could not remember.  "What is this place?"

"The beach," answered Ferahgo. Though the wolf had been swallowed by the sea and spat back out most unceremoniously, he did not appear to be in too bad a shape, to say nothing of how he survived drowning and freezing to death. "Hmm," hummed Ferahgo, his mouth shifting from side to side as he sized this wolf up. "Ye be headin' somewhere?"

The answer he recieved may not have been the answer he was looking for, but it was an answer all the same.  "Well— I'll be damned, it is," he quipped smartly. A dry laugh blossomed from his gut and caused the wolf pain. He winced and it tapered off into a fit of sputtering coughs.

The wolf wasn't sure if he was heading somewhere, looking for something... or anything for that matter. His memory, it seemed, had been lost in the current. "Obviously, I'm taking a pleasant stroll to nowhere in particular. That is, unless you're offering something better." The wolf was sure of one thing, and it was the ache of hunger in his belly.

The crew still had room for a couple able bodies. Dried out and fed, this one would do. If nothing else, he had a sense of humor, and the Captain met it with a brief smile. "I am Captain Blackbeard, Ferahgo, and if ye swears yerself to me, ye can join me crew on the ship ye see off shore. Ye can have a share of the rations and plunder, but only if ye swear to serve." His toes flexed and he tapped his foot.

Now, with a proper introduction, the wolf considered the captains offer in full. Though he knew nothing about himself, he felt he wasn't necessarily the following type. A fate of loyalty and servitude felt like unpleasant fate indeed, but the pang of hunger and the will to survive overpowered any of the wolf's will to say otherwise. And anyhoo... plunder sure sounded nice.

He nodded in acceptance.  "Sure. Why not?" agreed the wolf with a nonchalant and somewhat dazed shrug of the shoulders. "I mean— I've got nothing else to do."

Ferahgo laughed heartily, but his laugh, like much of the rest of him, was gruff and salted. "That's the spirit, me bucko!" Roughly, he threw his shoulder against the other wolf, and then beckoning him with his brown tail, headed toward the plank connecting his ship to the mainland. The tide was rising, and soon it would be swallowed by the sea once more. No time to dally.

The wolf barely had the time to rise to his feet before recieving the captains contact, sending himself staggering to side. His body was still reeling from the shock of being washed ashore; his legs remained weak and clumsy like a babe fresh out of the womb. But, stagger aside, the wolf regained his composure and followed the beckoning captain across the land-bridge and to his claimed territory.

He would stay for a time.  However long it took to sort things out.