Jailor, Grudge, Jewel, Long Tom, these fish sure had interesting names. Betsu stood reading the fish poster in the dingy but respectable restaurant. A heavy bucket was hanging from his scared hands, but this time it was not filled with the day's kills. It was loaded to the brim with salty, sandy water with seven fingernail thin fish in it. Swimming around in circles, quick and slow, some darting anxiously just under the surface, others imitating rocks on the metal bottom. His crew members, who were sitting across the room, snicker amongst each other when they spotted him.

"I can't wait for when he sees her."

"Quick, call him over."

"I can't, I'll break down laughing." All at the table glanced at the girl, who was sitting up the end, head swivelling around the room, taking it all in. The empty chair beside had been left purposely for their argumentative chef.

Betsu had awoken with a flourish last night, darted into his kitchen, cleared and measured a spot he liked very much and set into town just as the black gave away to grainy grey to purchase himself a fish tank. He had a lot of weird moments like that, surges of determination and sudden ideas. The reason for his rush was that the crew would be sailing out in three days, he wanted to get his tank up, settled in and have all problems found and fixed before they raised anchor.

He found a lovely twenty dollar one, second hand, glittery horse stickers on the side, a permanent water line stained around the top, but he was extremely proud when he carried it back to the ship. Answering his curious crew mate's questions with 'you'll see' and 'my own money,' Betsu was notorious for his tight fist, so they all got a great more interested in what he was doing after that. The chef spent most of his morning scrubbing it clean and pondering how he wanted it to look. Not for the first time thinking how lovely it was to be on holidays, no meals to worry about cooking up, because feeding his crew was a task and a half.

"Betsu," The chef looked to where the speaker, Isuto, was standing in the doorway, he wobbling at the distraction as he tried to lift the heavy glass tank up on the bench.

"We're all leaving for that breakfast café. Do you want to come?" Betsu thought about it, torn between fluffy scrambled eggs and setting up his fish tank. He slid the container in place as he thought it over.

"I'll come over when I've finished here. You guys go on ahead, order something for me."

"Kay." The lumber built man walked away, his shadow moving and letting the kitchen rejoice in early morning light once more. Betsu scratched at his head as he paced around the kitchen. Sitting at the table, going out and walking back in, pretending to chop vegetable and cook at the stove. He decided that he wanted it so he could see it well when he was cooking, something to watch while he waited to flip the bacon.

He grew very excited, and dashed happily out on deck and jumped over the side, sprinting to the fish shop to buy some fish. He paused for a moment; the ship was unmanned now, would it be safe? Captain had said it was safe and not to worry anymore, but he was a worrier. He turned around, took in his crews great magnificent home, dwarfing all the battered trawlers around it. He would be quick, he reassured himself, and they had been leaving it alone for hours at a time since they got here.

Yes, the ship could handle itself for the time being. He started off the fish shop again, like an excited child running for the zoo gates.

The first thing Betsu learned in the fish shop was that everything was overpriced. He didn't even like the look of most of these fishes! He thought that the pet shop would have the charming fish that swirled in its island's waters. But it just stocked tropical diseased looking things and chunks of unhappily swimming meat. He took note of their tank displays though, stones and driftwood, plants and manmade decorations.

None of this was what he had envisioned though; he had wanted it to be like taking a piece of this island's waters. So whenever he, or indeed the crew looked at it, they were reminded of their sunny, sleepy stop over on the shanty sanctuary. He decided that a fish handbook would be the only thing he would buy- thirteen dollars! A fish handbook would be the only thing he would steal.

He learned a great many things as he ate his breakfast amongst his musical crew. Fork in one hand, book in the other, not concerned a whiff for the odd lump of food that soared over his head. Fish keeping was not very popular or too well known, especially out on the sea. Probably why they had such a small range he though dully not too much money in fish.

As Betsu read deeper into the book he slowly got more and more unwilling to follow his dream. Did you know that you needed a filter, not just to clean but also oxygenate the water? And a light, a water heater, holes to hid in, antioxidants for the water, weekly cleaning- and don't get him started on amount of care needed for salt water! He wasn't spending the amount this was starting to clock up to. No, he made up his mind as he set the book down and sipped his orange juice. He wasn't going to do this commercially.

He watched as a lovely waitress cleaned up his empty plate, and he realised that it was far too quiet, he looked around to find that he was the only crew member left in the café. Oh, wait, the captain was dancing across the room, surrounded by an audience. That man was addicted to performing, but at the same time he feared crowds too big, a weird man, but they were all strange like that. That's why places like this were perfect for him. Too easy for someone to strike you down in the commotion of a big crowd, their captain had always worried; stampedes eminent, large numbers attract hostile attention.

Betsu rested back, and thought his tank over. The book had been saying that plants oxygenated just a well as the machines; grab some sand, rocks and wood from the beach. Catch some little fish; in fact, it would be nice to watch them grow. He could move the tank over to beside the window, which should look spectacular with the sun behind it. Salt water quality control? He could scoop the water from the ocean: easy. Keeping the fish warm when they went to winter islands? The kitchen was heated, wrap in a blanket if the need came. He was sure that everything was worked out; all he needed was a leak proof bucket and a net. Of course, he noted to himself, they will have to be pretty bomb proof fish to survive his minimalist care.

The brown, blonde tip haired chef spent his day hot and heavy, waste deep in sea, combing for ornaments to put up on the low tidal walkways, next to his bucket. He startled many creatures, and many a times he would come across a school of fish just the size he was looking for. They were lighting quick bastards though; he was empty handed in the subject of fish all day. That was until the breathtaking sunset starting, looks like they sedated the fish just as much as the people. He made sure they weren't all one type, and that none looked like they possessed the ability to eat all the others. Just like the book said, there were fish that preferred to slink along the bottom, cruise near the top and hang in the middle, he made sure like, the book had noted, to get a good mix of all.

Betsu had hurried as the shadows grew into long, gnarly witch's fingers, which clawed across the landscape and mapped and spun, almost rivalling the ragged, stump, all-embracing network of jetties. Betsu started to hurry back into the town, wanting to get his finds in the tank in time for tea, but the water started to slosh around and spill out, so he was forced to take his steps steadily. He had spent his entire day collecting what swam and laid inanimate in the bucket, he wasn't going to be reckless with it.

The moon was high, the streets dark and the people smelling like aftershave and perfume by the time he made it back. For all his friend's lazy manners and carefree actions, they would worry very seriously so if he was late. Tea was official, tea was meeting time and tea was where they counted heads. Betsu sighed heavily as he slipped though the restaurant's door, abandoning his hope of continuing on to the ship that glittered on the black sea in the distance.

He could hear his mob instantly, down the back, empty buckets under their chairs, looks like the cooks had collected the catches already. He started over, but was distracted by a big, colourful poster on the wall. It had pictures of all the fish and information on them. Betsu glanced at the ones in his bucket, and tried to match them up. Most looked identically, some were missing certain spines or markings. But he supposed those were things that came with age. Then he heard his crew mates roar his name, this was… peculiar. They hadn't missed him that much had they?

He rotated around to face them gradually, suspiciously, eyeing off there flushed and merry faces. They called out again, gesturing for him to come. He navigated though the tables and dinners carefully, determined not to unsettle his bucket of fish.

"We've got a surprise for you!" His captain hectically waved his long arms around as he absolutely beamed at him.

All the others murmured and talked to him at once, in their excitement failing to realise that not a word he could decipher. Then he saw the girl, sitting up the end, next to the only free chair, he sloshed over, was this the surprise? The captain had told them he wasn't recruiting anymore. Every one of his friends were explaining it all to him, but all at the same time, so all he gather was that there was a very long and interesting story behind this. He just sighed, a noise which wasn't audible over the chatter, he slide his full bucket under his chair cautiously and collapsed into his seat. He had been on his feet all day, he was tired and burned. Deciding that he would be filled in later by the captain, the most sensible, yet most absent minded, but usually the one that took the initiative. Sometimes he felt like the only capable on, he really did.

He turned to the young lady, she looked exhausted and oily, her cherry blonde hair was knotted and riddled with dirt and her lips were peeling painfully. She was watching him with a weary gaze, her appearance was outlandish, even to him, who has seen a lot of strange people, she wasn't instantly bizarre, but the more you looked at her, the more she became eerie and abnormal.

"Should she be here?" He asked the shipwright next to him.

"What do you mean? She's our new crew member." He really didn't care; this woman looked like she had crawled her way out of an abandoned mineshaft after ten months of wandering.

Try ten months of living on the street

"She looks like she needs medical attention. Where's Isuto?" He scanned the table for the doctor, but came up empty.

"He dashed off to the chemist, should be back soon actually." Okay Betsu, calm down, you're a chef not a doctor. He was a worrier, and he wasn't necessarily very proud of it.

"She doesn't speak Japanese." What?

"We decided that she would become your kitchen hand." What!?

He spun around to the girl, this time very, very sure that his worry was very, very well placed. He watched her carefully from then on, how she picked at her food when it came out, how she followed them like she was tied with an invisible lead when they left for the ship, how the crew reacted to her, he came to the conclusion that she was a cat.

A stray cat, that the captain had though looked interesting, picked up off the street and tucked under his arm. She was going to become the ship's cat, he had heard about actual sailor cats. They were wise things that attached themselves to a boat, slinked away when they were anchored at ports but were always hiding in the crow's nest or hunting amongst the supplies in the hull when the ship pulled out. They spent their time basking in the sun on the deck, pouncing at your feet from under the stairs and meowing for a dish of milk at the chef.

The thing was, he scratched his chin in frustration, this wasn't some odd tabby, this was a girl, woman, lady, person and she sure wasn't going to hunt those pesky mice in the cupboards. But he had to accept it, because the language barrier reduced her and she wasn't helping herself by melting into walls and shadows and walking in such an animalistic and wild way.

Looks like the crew had a cat. He was not impressed. A cat, which instead of hunting mice was going to help him cook. He was not impressed.

Even now as they clambered up the ramp into their ship, she waited to last and scuttled up soundlessly. She instantly and smoothly darted into a deep shadow; her only give away the fact that he had seen her hide herself there.

The crew was piling inside the cabin, someone was brushing their teeth over the side, another, with his pyjama's in hand, headed off for the shower rooms. Everyone was just assuming that he would sort the girl out. Where was she going to sleep? What was she going to wear? He had no fucking idea! He was in the middle of a break down, but he was determined not to let his gaze move from the dark where the cat (- girl! Girl, she was a girl,) had enveloped herself in. He was sure, the second she was able, she would be stashing herself away somewhere and drop from the face of the earth.

Then he heard heavy footsteps jogging up the plank. He turned to see Isuto, a bursting bag in each thick hand. The black skinned man whirled his head around, taking in the scene.

"Where's the girl?" Oh, good. He takes back saying he was the only capable one, Isuto was now the greatest person in existence. Betsu pointed to the shadow, making sure the doctor understood.

"I've come to a realisation," the chef started as the afro haired doctor set his bags down. "She has become the ship's cat, hasn't she?" Isuto stared at him, the man's sharp and thick features looked terribly mournful.

"Better a ship cat then a street rat." Betsu rolled that little pearl of wisdom around in his mind for a while, sighing at how draining this day was being.

"Petto was saying that she does speak Japanese. Is that true?"

"It's worse than that. They swore she was rambling in a foreign language when they first meet, but by the time I meet her she was mute."

"What?"

"I think she's become a shock mute. I'm pretty sure that it would have been from the sudden," he gestured around at the ship, "this, civilisation, care, attention."

"Well… that's fucking brilliant."

"This is going to be tiring; she's probably lived her whole life on the street. I'm really worried that she won't know how to use a toilet or shower." Betsu just stayed silent to that, he had no reassuring words, because there was a very high possibility of it being true. Street rats were a major problem in this world, especially in the Grand line. It was so bad in some towns, that the marines came in and 'purged' the city, dragging urchins out of their muddy puddles to work as labourers or slaves for the government.

"Betsu, I can't get her to come out, can you grab some food from the kitchen."

"She won't he hungry, we just had dinner."

"Street rats never pass up food." Right. He walked away and zipped into his kitchen, pried open the fridge, contemplated what would be the best choice of food before deciding on a small bowl that had some leftover shaves of ham in it. As he was striding back, giddy with his and Isuto's new responsibility, he saw his tank, lonesome and quite. He reminded himself he had to move it over in front of the window and get those fish in- wait, those fish, did he bring them back?

Oh, shit. They were under his chair! He dashed out to where Isuto was crouching down, trying to ease the girl out as if she were in fact a cat. It was so demeaning for her but, how to go about something like this?

"Take this, I left my fish at the restaurant, I'm going to go fetch them." He squeezed it out in one breath to the man before jumping off the barrier of the ship and across to the wharf.

"They were stacking chair when I walked past before." He heard Isuto yell after him, he acknowledged it by speeding up so much he blurred. He had worked his ass off for those fish, logs and rocks. He refused for it to be in vain.

The night had a strong wind, chatter from the shore reached the ship and the banter of the crew was muffled but still playful as it came through the walls. It was quite besides that, waves lapping against the boat, ropes straining and insects buzzing. That was what Betsu returned to, a lonely deck. He wondered if she was still in the shadows, watching him. That girl was out of his hands now; with he was thankful for, Isuto had taken on the task of caring for the miss, more or less.

He plodded into the kitchen and found the lights off and room empty, strange, usually they were mucking about at the table just before bed. Betsu moved his tank to in front of the window, and started to pull the rocks and branches from out of the bucket, arranging them in the tank, pouring the fish in and making runs down to the sea to scoop up water and slowly he filled it up to about the top. He didn't want it splashing out too much if when they hit ruff water.

It was marvellous, he stood back to admire it, the sand would settle in time and the fish would start to make themselves homes. The sea weed he had found swayed in its clumps. He had hidden an entire side wall with this beady stringy golden coloured stuff and had even come across half dead clumps of some spongy, blue coral which he hoped would take to life in his tank. The drift wood created quarries, arcs, tunnels, hollows and the rocks little over hangs and hidey-holes.

Yawning and stretching high, he decided it was time to get ready for bed. Dragging his feet into the bed room, the haddocks and mattresses managed to clutter the large bed room; he passed all those and headed for the yellow chest of drawers. Everyone had their own colour, that's what the crew had decided on as their identification system. He dug into the middle draw and found his boxer shorts under his winter coat, the riffled through for a singlet and then bounced towards a clean, cool shower.

It was outside the shower rooms that Betsu found Isuto, arms crossed and leaning next to one of the rooms someone was using.

"She knows how to use the shower." Isuto said to him when he caught sight of him.

"That's good," as an after though he added, "she really needed on too." He slipped away into his own room. Shedding his clothes, and stepping under the refreshing water. What a day.

When she had stepped into the shower, it intently ran brown. She cringed at the unfamiliar feeling of hot water. She knew it wasn't rather hot at all, in fact, the man had probably run it nice and lukewarm for her. It's just that her skin was unconditioned. She had shoved him out, and then did the first brave thing she had done in months. Stripped. It was terrifying to see, finally, up close in the mirror, what she had become. Bony thin, infested sores, when she ran her hand over her tummy fleas crawled away across her skin. She wanted nothing more than to submerge into a boiling vat of ointment. Get them off me! She started with pocking her right foot under the falling water, washer in hand she scrubbed herself raw, from between the toes to behind the ears. She imagined that it took her an eternity; it flew for her though, she could have stayed there, sitting on the tiled shower floor, cleaning herself over and over.

But her hair refused to submit, no matter how much shampoo or conditioner she spilt and rubbed in. She crept out and started to search the basin for some scissor, she wanted to cut it off, rid herself of the torturous ordeal. All it was to her now was a nest of lice and fleas.

But instead she found a razor, turning the thing over in her hands the first smile in far too long flirted across her face. Prowling back into the shower, she slowly and with extreme enjoyment ran the bladed instrument over her legs gasping when she saw just how much hair was peeling away and swirling down the drain. As she did the other leg and her arm pits, a rush of confidence sailed through her body.

Now when she stepped out of the shower room, her hair was still dripping, but the rest of her towelled dry and clothed back into her smudged and stained clothes, she wasn't braced and tensed for an attack, she was coolly scanning around for the danger; come one, do your best.

I've been to hell and back.

The charitable man had fallen asleep were he sat, leaning against the wall. No need to wake him up. She started to investigate the chillingly quiet ship, looking behind masks, scrambling up netting, opening boxes but never once going inside the cabin. They were all in there, all those dangerous men.

After she had stuck her nose in ever crack there was on the deck, satisfied that everything had been found, sniffed and prodded at, she went to shake the man awake. But she grew very aware that he might hit her in surprise with those gorilla arms. So she settled for slamming one of the three shower doors. He jumped up into a battle stance, when the bang rung through the silent night air. Terry narrowed her eyes, now very sure that her cautious nature was something she should hold onto. These were killers, not cookie making nuns.

She needed to make a choice, she needed this man's protection, she didn't want to stay on her own anymore and she didn't want every day to be a guessing game. No matter how much her insides flopped and her throat curdled, she forced herself to carefully patter over to him. He didn't try to reach for her or talk. Instead he stood, picked up the bags that she had yet to accept from him. She patted her hair making scissors with her hand and pretending to snip it away. It was simple and got the message across, but now he was trying to lead her inside.

She was never going in there. He left the bags outside and went in himself, disappearing into the cabin. She waited, the nigh was silver and bathed in moonlight. She turned her ears into the sounds around her, the crash and slap of waves as they suicidally threw themselves against the titanic pirate ship and the dinghies nodding about it.

The man appeared again, with a small waste basket and a pair of heavy scissors. She made it very clear to him that he was not coming anywhere near her with those, growling and darting back. Very, very clear, so much so that he instantaneously dropped the two things down and back all the way through the door and into the cabin.

Now she was alone again, and she felt safe enough to slink up to the dropped goods. With her head over the basket she started to chop and slice, clumps, like fur balls and great matted tennis balls were fall out. She snipped some more and hacked at the troublesome parts. In the end it was disfigured and dreadfully cut, but she didn't care, she was rid of it. Now all she needed was some lice shampoo her Mum used to wash her hair with and she would be rid of the itchy feet that she could still feel running about her scalp.

She wanted the man to come back now, but he was still inside. Terry sneaked up to door, trying to crack it open and peep in, as she slid up her feet knock over one of the plastic bags over. A few bottles rolled out, she couldn't read any of the strange scrawl but they were plain packaged and pretty self-explanatory. She dug deeper into the bag, blankets, shampoo, conditioner, tooth brush and paste, hair brush, blankets. Bulk packets of children sized top, shorts and underwear, it was the truth she though as she stared at the contents, she had determinate that much.

She gathered the bags and rushed off, intent to put the items to use. Locking the door behind her, she pulled her clothes away, grabbed the hair bottles and just lathered herself. One was the lice shampoo she had been wishing for, she could tell by the tea tree smell. She loved that smell, so overpowering and distinctive.

The chemicals stang her sores when they ran down her body, but she had always associated pain with the healing process. The sea water was good for wounds, the salt disinfected it, and so whenever she got impaled or gashed her skin somehow, she sat out in the waves. It stung, how it stung, but she was sure it saved her from fatal infections more than one time.

The new clothes didn't scratch at all; they just hung off her bones and brushed against her skin as soft and cool as silk, in fact she was sure they were silk. The tooth brush dug into her weakened gums and she spat out a small trail of blood, but that was just something bad health brought you.

Terry grabbed her supplies, the two bags, and slipped out into the humid night air. Soundlessly she found the spot she had noticed back before when she had been inspecting the ship. There was a huge crate, and tangled over and one top of it was kilometres of rope, all looped and twisted. She pulled some of the thick as an arm anchor rope over the side, so it hung half off. Burrowing inside, it was like weaving a nest, she pulled out one of the blankets, it was a thick and thermal one, which she used to layer her nest with and then she squirmed inside, pulling her supplied after her. Curling up, she wriggled a bit to get comfy and pushed some rope across to cover the hole she had made.

They would never find her here, not even with the assistance of the Sun. Terry had slept in many places, and amongst anchor rope was something she had done before. Ships sometimes abandon whole coils of it at the dock, once it starts to disintegrate from use.

The door squeaked open, and she listened sleepily as footsteps started to pace around the deck, a heavy voice called out and another pair joined him. She heard then discusses something hastily, heard the loud clank as one jumped down on the wharf planks. The other rambled on and the two stood in silence for a while before softly going inside.

Their names were Betsu and Isuto. She wondered, had they been looking for her? Honestly, she was too tired to care, her eyelids dropped and she promptly fell into her best night of sleep in far, far too long.

"Captain, your cat has taken the stuff and made a run for it."

"She's my cat now?"

"We were just voting on a name."

"Yeah, since she's too scared to tell us her actual name."

"She probably doesn't have one."

"She's in really bad shape, we should find her."

"Trust the doctor to say that."

"Petto."

"Yeah?"

"Smell smell fruit?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that."

They all piled out, the entire six man crew, all very interested in where the girl had got to. Isuto walked over to were the bin full of hair sat.

"I left her here, she didn't want he near with the scissors around." Everyone remarked at how heedful she was towards the doctor gentle handed.

"Right," the shipwright started sniffing the air, "she was here, and then she went over here." He followed the girl's trail, over next to the door, to the shower room. "Jesus, those chemicals always sting." The others watched him circle around in the tiled bathroom. "Had a shower…another shower if I smell correct, then went over… here?" The heavy jawed, mousey moustached shipwright stopped in front of a bundle of ship rope that was taller then him. Petto then suddenly swirled around with his finger on his lips.

"She's sleeping in there." He whispered and pointed into the rope.

"Really."

"Let me see."

"That doesn't look too comfortable."

"Look she's using the stuff you gave her."

"Scrubbed up real well."

"Come one, let's leave before you guys wake her up."

"Us wake her up? Never!"

"Shhh!"

"We quiet you moron."

They were all crowding and trying to squint through one small hole, the only place which they could see her. Slowly the doctor started to heard them away and back to their own beds.

"Should we leave her out here?"

"She looks happy enough."

"Do you think she will come to breakfast with us?"

"Probably not, hey, what names were you voting on?"

Everyone clambered to inform the doctor, there was Opaque (after the island she was found on,) Missy (because she was a miss,) and Linden (after their ship, Sturdy Linden.) When they piled into the kitchen, the captain stood up on a chair, struck a heroic pose and was calling for their attention until he was knocked off by Betsu.

"Chairs are for sitting on, not standing!"

No one voted for Opaque, which they thought was funny. Taiko, Betsu and the captain voted for Missy while Koto, Petto and Isuto voted for Linden.

So in the end, just before bed, they all decided that they would call her Miss Linden. Really, thought Betsu, as he collapsed on to his mattress and rolled under his sheet, they chose the worst names. He heard the others hammocks squeak as they adjusted into their comfy spots. He watched the half formed moon out of the porthole window until he heard Koto start snore. Only then was he relaxed enough to lull off to sleep, safe with the knowledge that he had friends (family, really) beside and above him. He was a worrier.

She woke was the fists rays of light danced across her face, like she does every day. Scuttling out of her nest and creeping over to side of the ship. Sitting on top of the barrier, legs dangling over, she watched the sunrise. She always watched it; if it can continue then I can too, tomorrow and the next day after that. The salt breeze kissed at her face and the seagulls cawed her a good morning. Usually she would set off for the water taps about now, while no one was around to chase her off. She wondered if any of the pirates were up yet, if the fridge was without a lock.

It had been two days now since she'd made a home on the pirate ship. Terry's fear had stopped boiling up at every turn, but it still sat on top of her heart like hot porridge. She liked the ship, she really did, she liked the charitable man as well, but everyone else gave her the creeps. It was a task to explain, just how there immense bodies, flowing with muscles, sewn together with scars and decorated with cold, nicked, weapons which hung from their backs and belts, managed to stir her fearful gut so violently.

She settled her thirsty mouth by guzzling water from the sink in the shower room. She rejoiced that it was still sweet, unlike the tap water from the city, which tasted heavy and chemical. She scuttled to the cabin door, cracked it open painfully slowly until it was enough for her bony body to fit through. Grabbing the first thing she saw, a loaf of bread, and dashing back out as quickly as she came. She had started to raid the cabin, more and more courageous ever time, but still, unfailing, wherever she stepped over the threshold, she felt like her body had been dropped in an ice bath.

Sitting in the shade cast from the figure head, she gorged herself on three pieces of bread, breaking an extra one for the curious seagulls that had perched near her. She stashed the rest in her nest; feeling immensely proud at the small pile of food she had amassed over the last few days.

She went and brushed her teeth, loving the glorious minty taste that it left in her mouth. There was no way she was leaving this ship.

Until I find a way to get back, that is.

"Rise and shine, were setting sail today! Straight after breakfast, on your feet, I want to be moved out by nine!"

"Fucking navigator."

"Good morning to you too."

Taiko, who had been awake already and had been lying, thinking, in bed, asked the pancake like navigator a question.

"How do you think Miss Linden will go when we pull out?" But it wasn't the navigator that answered him; it was the doctor, who had been the one to take the most interest in the girl.

"She'll be fine," the man's plump lips stretched into a sure smile, "she's made herself a very permanent home out in that jungle of rope."

As the pirates were chatting, stirring and stretching, their cat was pouncing around out on the deck. She had spotted a mouse trying to get into her food pile, and wanted to make sure it never had the chance to do such a thing again.

A teeth filled smile split across her face. If she remembered back far enough, to a life that felt like a dream now, she could sense herself from back then, how different they had grown from each other!

The squeaks from the mouse as she lunged and trapped in in her hands, were like penetrating questions to her.

When you get back, will you still be standing in that jail corridor?

Or maybe she would have been labelled as an escaped prisoner and missing person?

Could a month here be a year back home?

Just how was she getting back?

Would she still be able to make a normal life for herself after all this?

Will she still have fear and stock pile her food?

Will the spasms still come?

She had experienced two small times of pain, lucky for they were both when she was the only on a board, they didn't suspect anything. But a big one was coming; she could feel it in the ways that her muscles cramped. In preparation or just reacting to her anxiety, she didn't know and she didn't necessarily care too much for the answer.

She was a fearer, that how it had always been.