The sun shone down on the western sea. White, fluffy clouds floated across the perfectly blue sky like massive moving mountains. The sea rippled as blue-green waves slowly went up and down.

A corsair ship –the word Deathwake painted on the side of its hull– slowly, almost lazily, floated its way toward the western setting sun.

The Deathwake was a large ship with three decks. Its tall masts loomed up high into the sky.

A seagull gracefully plopped down on the corsair ship's railing. It puffed out its chest as it prepared to grace the crew aboard with the melodious (Though some would say squawky and annoying) sound of its voice when–

Pow!

A small turnip went slamming into the bird, causing a flurry of feathers to explode from the impact. The seagull gave an angry squawk and dove off the side of the ship, stretching out its wings and flying off to find a place where it would more peaceful.

The bird's dignified flight swiftly turned into a panicked retreat as another turnip suddenly whipped out from the Deathwake and skimmed his tail-feathers.

"Craw!" The seagull flapped his wings as hard and as fast as they could go until he finally became nothing more than a mere speck on the horizon.

"Tha' was a great shot there, Blue-Eyes," a short, rather scrawny rat exclaimed to his companion, a tall weasel with deep blue eyes. There was a small pile of turnips heaped together in between the two young vermin, and both held slings in their claws.

The rat was a skinny beast. He had fur that was scruffy and spiked up enough to put a hedgehog to shame. His tattered clothes showed signs of wear and tear and his belt looked like it had been found in the ship's trash pile (Which, as it turns out, was where the rat had found it). He was called Rico Weakgut by the older sailors because he had a weak gut when it came to sea-sickness.

The weasel beside him seemed a bit better off, but not by much. His clothes were slightly less raggedy and his fur was nicely combed, and he always had a smile plastered on his face. Rico could've sworn that Blue-Eyes had been born into the world with full-grown combed fur, and a smirk on his lips.

"Why thank you, Rico. I guess that was a pretty good shot, if I do say so myself," Blue-Eyes replied. "The same could be said for yours though. A little bit more to the left and you would've hit him square in his hindquarters."

"Do birds even 'ave 'indquarters?" Rico scratched his head thoughtfully. "Or do they just have those feathered tails?"

"I don't know, and quite frankly, I don't really care." Blue-Eyes grinned and slapped Rico playfully on the shoulder. "Say! I just had a brilliant idea! What if we see if we can hit the lookout from down here?"

"What a great idea!"

The rat and the weasel both grabbed their slings and scooped up their pile of turnips, which they had raided from the ship's kitchen.

"Wait," Rico said, stopping dead in his tracks, "I think ol' thin Firepelt is on look-out duty today."

"So?"

"What do yew mean 'so'? Ol' Firepelt would chuck us over th' side if we tried t' 'hit him with our slings."

"Hmm…" Blue-Eyes scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I guess you have a point there. Well then what in fate's name can we use as target practice?"

"We could use th' slaves, though it's no fun iffen they can't run or try t' dodge..."

"…True."

The two young vermin stood on the center of the deck as they waited for inspiration to hit them.

"What 'ave we 'ere?" a voice boomed out from behind Blue-Eyes and Rico. A pair of rough claws grabbed them both by their ears. The two young creatures whimpered in pain and Rico let out a curse that would've made any halfway decent mother wash his mouth out with soap.

They turned around slowly to see the fearsome Captain Bloodfur, the terror of the western sea. The rat had a healthy-sized stomach. A stoat corsair had once made the accurate (Yet unwise) statement that Bloodfur was actually fat … That stoat lived to regret his words. Briefly. Then Bloodfur had him tied to a stone block and thrown into the sea.

Bloodfur had veins on his neck that bulged out like rope cords. His whiskers trailed all of the way down to his belly button and were tied in a clump of tangled knots. His large nose looked like a squashed tomato.

"Well, well, well," Bloodfur said in a voice that sounded similar to a roll of thunder, "What were th' two o' ye doing with these 'ere fancy slings?"

"N-n-nothin', Capt'n," Rico stammered out. "We just borrowed 'em t' practice. We were gonna put 'em right back, honest!"

"Y' know, some captains would 'ave yer heads fer stealin' weapons from a ship's armory. Some would even 'ave ye skinned alive." The fat rat threw back his head in a thunderous laugh.

Captain Bloodfur suddenly stopped laughing. The searat leaned forward until his long whiskers practically touched the deck. "Don't ever, ever touch these again, do y' hear?"

They bobbed their heads profusely.

"Sure thing, Capt'n!"

"We will absolutely try to do as you request, my dear mumpsimus captain sir," Blue-Eyes said with a sweeping bow.

Bloodfur squinted down at Blue-Eyes, scratching his head. "What's up with the fancy lingo, eh?" The vermin captain waved a paw dismissively. "Alrighty then, be off with ye. Go 'elp th' cook or somethin'."

As they scrambled off, Rico whispered to Blue-Eyes, "What's a mumpsi...a mupm...a whatever you said?"

The weasel snickered. "Nothing good."

000000000000000

The one and only cook aboard the Deathwake was an odd beast. Some said that she was part mole because she always squinted in the daylight, and talked in a surprisingly deep voice for a female. She was called Wartnose, and she lived up to the name. The hideous growth on her snout was enough to make any toad jealous.

She had been stirring a boiling pot of … something (she wasn't even quite sure what it was), when she heard a quiet knock on the kitchen cabin door.

"Watch'ya want?" she scowled, grabbing a small frying pan as she stomped over to the door. "If it's somebeast with another complaint about my cookin', I'm gonna…" Twisting the doorknob, she flung the door open wide and saw …

Nothing?

Sniffing the air, Wartnose glanced about at the milling searats who were either carrying supplies to the top decks, or were just randomly sitting and watching, bored out of their guts.

"Who knocked on th' door?" Wartnose asked, brandishing her pan. "Speak up!"

There was a moment of silence as everybeast stopped what they were doing and stared back at the irritated cook. Nobeast messed with Wartnose. Some say she poisoned anybeast that she didn't like. It was quite easy to believe since her food did taste like it had a healthy dash of poison.

Wartnose spat on the ground and was about to go back to cooking when a head suddenly popped up from behind one of the barrels of water.

"I-I-I did." Rico stammered.

Wartnose rolled her eyes. "Well? I'm assuming y' didn't knock fer the pleasure of it. What'cha want?"

Rico replied, "Capt'n sent us."

"'Us?'" Wartnose raised an eyebrow.

Blue-Eyes' head popped up from behind the barrel beside Rico's. The weasel gave her a polite smile. "Hello. Captain said to see if you were in need of our services for anything."

Wartnose scoffed. Gazing back to where her pot was still cooking on the stove, she sighed and glanced upwards. "Fine," she said, gesturing with her pan. "Come on."

The corsairs around them resumed their work as the two luckless vermin followed the head cook into the kitchens.

"Well, I've got some taters that you kin peel." Wartnose said once the door was shut. "An' after that, there are a lot of dishes t' be scrubbed, bowls 'n' plates that need sorting, food t' be cooked, 'n' cabbages to be chopped." She grinned nastily. "An' maybe some nice, sliced ears an' paws fer dessert tonight. It depends on 'ow fast y' two work."

The weasel looked at her with his blue eyes. "Of course, madam, we'll get it done precisely like you say."

"Just make sure you don't peel too much of the skin off them taters like y' did last time," Wartnose said as she handed them both a pair of knives. "Now get t' work."

000000000000000

"Don't you wish there was more to life than this? How about you, Ric?"

The two young vermin had been slicing, washing, mopping, and peeling until they were sure that their paws would fall off. Rico gave a grunt in reply to Blue-Eyes' statement as he reached out to grab another potato.

"What do you mean by that?"

Blue-Eyes shrugged. "I'm afraid that I just wasn't built for the life of a corsair. Heck, I don't even have the accent!"

"Well, I mean, that's our lot in life I guess. Jus' as long as we obey orders 'n' do our jobs, we'll be fine."

Blue-Eyes shook his head. "Not for me. I want to get off of this leaky tub."

Rico sighed.

Blue-Eyes hadn't been born and raised on the Deathwake like Rico had. The blue-eyed weasel had been picked up on a raid five seasons ago, along with a few other vermin. Blue-Eyes apparently had no kin when they had found him.

There had been a little bit of debate about if the younger ones were to be assigned as slaves or as young corsairs-to-be. The captain had finally laughed and said that it didn't matter because everybeast on his ship had to jump just as high when he snapped out an order, be they slave or a deckhand. When Rico and Blue-Eyes had first met, Rico had his doubts about the fine talking young weasel, but given time, the two became close friends in what can be called the most bonding relationship of all. Partners in crime.

There had been a few times in the past that Blue-Eyes had told Rico that he always had a dream to desert the ship, and live happily on an island somewhere. Maybe even one day becoming a chief among the island's natives. Rico had laughed and shrugged it off the few first times, but as they got older, Blue-Eyes grew more persistent.

"How about it, Ricky?" Blue-Eyes asked, throwing yet another peeled potato on the ever-growing pile. "What if, on some nice, quiet, dark night in the near future, we swipe some provisions and take one of the lifeboats. Nobeast will miss us, though I'm sure they might get a tad upset about the boat, but if we have the timing right, we could make for an island and live there, happy as two stoats with a barrel of seaweed grog."

Do you remember what they do to deserters? Rico wanted to ask, but he knew from past conversations that once Blue-Eyes started going on and on about leaving, no amount of reasoning would get through to him.

"Yeah, who knows," Rico said finally, "Maybe one day. If everythin' is perfect, 'n' we 'ave everythin' we need, we migh' just try it." Before Blue-Eyes could open his mouth, Rico continued, "But until then, let's not talk 'bout it, aye?"

"Alright, mate, whatever you say."

As they both turned to continue their chores, Rico could still see a certain glimmer in the weasel's ice blue eye. The weasel's lips barely moved as he whispered, echoing Rico's words, "Until one day."