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Clement hid his face behind a hand of cards. He hummed like he was thinking, one of his tall rabbit ears flopped at an angle to suggest he was defeated. Frustrations buzzed about the table as he hesitated. He was taunting the others and they knew it. There were three of them gathered around a barrel.

Brunswick, a grey cat sat on the edge of a stool with a small mound of coins before him. The third was a tall bird named Poet, who fanned his cards out exuberantly, excited and boasting despite his total lack of winnings.

"Go on then." Brunswick glared at the rabbit. "Lay it out."

"Hold on." Clement scowled at his cards. "Counting." He had a knack for knowing what was dealt and what was waiting in the wings. But this was all part of his performance. He paused a moment longer, then made a show of sighing before he tossed his hand on the barrel. "Straight flush." He let out an exaggerated groan and leant over to rake a sizeable chunk of coin from in front of Brunswick.

"Get fucked," the cat snarled.

"Check his sleeves." Poet rolled his eyes, managing to sound both dramatic and tired.

Clement rolled back the loose sleeve of his shirt. Nothing but his white fur, tinged a little grey from being so long at sea. He smirked as he lifted the other, where a stiletto dagger was sheathed to the underside of his wrist. He slipped it out of the worn leather by tugging its hilt with his middle finger and flourished it in Brunswick's face.

The blade clattered to the side, ripped from the rabbit's hands as the cat drew a thick dagger from his hip and raised it to Clement's face. "You are such a-"

"You animals!" Poet shrieked as he leapt from his chair, knocking over the barrel they'd been playing on. The stiletto had parted the lengthy feathers on his forearm. Though not a single one had been cut the delicate plumage had been ruffled. Barely. The disarray not even noticeable to the eye from two paces.

Brunswick leapt back half a step. A cascade of coins tumbled about the floor, made worse by the rocking of the boat. Poet lunged for him and dealt a forceful peck to his shoulder. He hissed and turned the knife on the bird. But Poet had kicked back to bash an arm across Clement's face. With a shrill huff, the bird crushed the cards in his claw and stormed off, slamming the door to the cabin as he left.

From the corner of the room, a fourth watched the commotion. Tehati, a lizard who'd kept his face in a book as they played, now lifted his head with a dour look.

"Keep it down." He exhaled heavily, his voice creaked like aged timber and turned his attention back to the worn pages in front of him. Brunswick held a paw to his shoulder, grimacing at the thin dribble of blood that stained his hand.

Clement looked bewildered. "Happy?" he asked, the question more damning than anything else. Tension flared in the space between them as the cat hissed, his dagger still poised. He was not at fault here.

After months without seeing land, he'd grown so sick of the rabbit's sense of superiority. He wanted nothing more than to slice the cretin's ear off, right where it folded when he wanted to look sad. To stain Clement's white fur the same crimson as his anger. Intensity built within him as he stared into Clement's brown eyes. He knew a rise to violence meant the rabbit would think he had won, but if it were bad enough he'd regret it all the same.

Just a little push was all he needed. One more curt word out of Clement's mouth, he'd have his ear before the rabbit's drawling voice had finished.

A tight grin lifted the corner of Clement's lip but he stooped to collect his winnings and sauntered off. He'd read Brunswick as truly as the cat could understand himself. Brunswick grit his teeth, tempted to plunge his knife into the rabbit's back, but Tehati was watching from his periphery, so he sheathed his blade and cursed under his breath.

"In the future," the lizard started, not looking up from his book. "You could consider apologising instead of maiming my jinx-eater." It was spoken firmly enough to dissuade any response.

Still, Brunswick exhaled slowly and tried to push the anger from his voice. "I'm not the one wh-"

"Like children," Tehati tutted and closed his book with a puff of dust. He rose to his feet and stretched. "We'll be ashore soon, won't have to bristle against them much longer." He gave Brunswick a knowing look and strode out of the cabin.

With a snort, Brunswick knelt to tidy up the cards and count his coin. Unsurprisingly, Clement had swiped a bigger share than he was owed. That was fine. The cat licked his lips. He'd steal something back of equal value before long, he was as fair as he was cunning.

*****

Out on the deck, Poet had draped himself over the railing. His talons clacked against the carved wood, his gaze flung out across the ocean where the late afternoon sun glistened on the waves. In the distance was their destination.

A town called Briarton, home of the Blackthorn Marauders. It was a rickety port town with a bit of a reputation for being rough. But they had a delivery to make, and a few supplies to restock. Their ship, The Burning Anne, wasn't particularly renowned among the pirates of this coast so making an appearance was worthwhile too. Sometimes reputation was all a ship had to keep it safe.

Poet sighed. He'd grown sick of this ship. Of being at sea for months on end with those idiots. Around him the noisy bustle of the crew kept tearing his focus away from his thoughts, which only served to further his annoyance. He often felt isolated among drabble such as them. He was aboard to entertain, but days like today there was little levity he could bring. They were all tired. Their respite lay in that town that drew ever closer.

Waiting was torture. It'd be another two hours at least before he could disembark. He lingered on the deck until the shouting of the crew drew enough of his ire he had to retreat to his room before he lashed out at them too.

He sat in his nest, a wiry thing of twigs, driftwood, broken planks and stones, laden with blankets for comfort and warmth. He lay against the side, scrawling vicious words about Brunswick. About Clement. He bemoaned Tehati's disinterest. They listened to him, somewhat. He'd keep them in line if he cared to. But the lizard scarcely cared for their quarrels. Poet half believed he even enjoyed watching on, secretly hoping they'd thin each other out. It'd certainly make his life quieter which is all he ever seemed to want.

Eventually, the call went out: landfall in fifteen minutes.

Poet exhaled, trying to calm his frustrations. He gathered a few things for a night out in the town and left his quarters in search of Clement. He found the rabbit waiting by the helm, eagerly watching the dock draw closer.

"Ahh Clem." He spoke gently. One of Clement's ears fell. "I felt it imperative to let you know you are truly one of the least clever cretins to walk this earth." Poet had to hide a snarky laugh. "Do not invite me to throw cards with you again, it only serves to enrage me and you know this. Yet you insist. So you must want me enraged."

Clement folded his arms and shot back a foul glare.

"Well, in my anger I've come to realise what you really are. A nasty, good-for-nothing egotist." Poet's voice brimmed with fury. "I shall not miss you when you invariably tumble from the helm and litter the seabed with your detritus, where your Bellor can't shine his light on your worm-ridden corpse."

The rabbit waved him off, clearly bothered but not interested in squabbling. He could tell there were words in Clement's mouth so he waited a moment longer, hoping for a response. Anything to let him say more.

But Clement held his tongue. Poet strode off, satisfied with himself. He rounded on Brunswick, who sat on the deck with his arms and legs poking out over the side of the ship. His body lay against a post of the railing, like he were imprisoned on the boat. Poet's claws scraped against the deck behind him, his ears flicked up like he knew what was coming.

"Before we part on the dock, I wanted to tell you that you are the most unpleasant, ungracious little rat I have ever had the displeasure of knowing." Poet's voice sharpened with ire as he spoke.

"Not a rat." Brunswick snickered as he glanced back, there was genuine humour in his voice like Poet's distaste amused him. "But I'll pluck you bare in your sleep, then we'll see who's more vermin between us."

"Always with the threats of violence." Poet huffed and turned his beak up. He truly thought the cat a vagrant. "You will never grow out of your patricidal past."

The cat sprung to his feet. "I would gut you like a poultry hen if given half a chance." He hissed. "You'd be lucky to end up half as well off as my father." He spat on the deck between them, his fangs bared.

"A fine way to wound up fed to sharks if you don't throw yourself to them first."

A scowl shaped Brunswick's features, like it wounded him. Like it was a stroke too far. Good. Poet had long grown sick of the cat's infrequent moods that befouled the energy of the entire ship.

The bird exhaled, satisfaction made him puff out his breast before he strutted away. He needed to clear the backlog of resentment that had built over the last few months. Words were his forte and it was always stimulating to sharpen his tongue when they deserved it.

With a weight off of his shoulders, Poet stood easier. He waited as the crew guided the ship into the dock. It was always such an ordeal, his arms ached just watching them bustle about, shouting and throwing ropes. It wasn't work he'd be caught dead doing, instead he set about smoothing the ruffled feathers of his forearm.

Finally the anchor was dropped and a gangplank lowered to the dock. Poet strode boldly into Briarton, second off the ship so he wouldn't have to deal with the dockmaster.

The muted light of dusk gave the docks an almost sinister aura. Long shadows pooled about the worn flagstones which were covered in sporadic muck that wafted an unpleasant odour. Poet carefully picked his steps as he made for the eastern edge of town, where lampposts illuminated winding streets and there was enough of a bustle to suggest some sort of nightlife was afoot.

He clutched his jacket about him, both to stave off the cold and confound his silhouette. One could never be too careful going it alone in a place like this, but he had to get off of that ship. A couple drinks and a distraction for the night was all he needed to feel normal again.

He scoured the nearest buildings, hoping for a pub with a respectable atmosphere. There was a grotty bar, clearly for the dockworkers. It smelled funky, gave off a dinky light and from the raucous chanting echoing out of the walls seemed far too rough of a place for the bird's more refined sensibilities.

He continued on, turning up his beak at every establishment until finally one caught his eye. The building was painted white, though it was covered in a thin layer of grit. A sign hung over the door depicting a lyre made from half an anchor, with the name The Overture Den etched elegantly beneath. Finally, something civil.

As he entered the tavern he was delighted to find good lighting and the gentle sounds of a lyre audible under the hubbub of conversation. The ceiling was high, the rafters festooned with anchor chains that propped up quilted canvases and told a dozen tales. Amongst them was six panels covering the Trials of Auroch, a bull who sailed the seas in search of the fairest maiden but was never satisfied until he wound up in the belly of a serpent.

It was a touch that made Poet feel at ease, Auroch's Ballad was top of his repertoire if ever he was performing. The moral of the tale was one he took to heart - to never be too picky.

He glanced at the bar, where a handful of patrons sat on tall stools. Most were engaged with another but a few sat alone, their eyes trained on the door to catch any newcomers. A tall silver fox dressed in padded clothes caught his eye. The fox winked from across the tavern and beckoned him over. Poet swept back the plumage on his head as he strutted over, chest puffed out. He liked a man with confidence.

"Evening." The fox leant against the bar, a coy smile on his face. "Shocked to find a bird as fine as you alone on a cold night."

"Well." Poet's heart fluttered. "Hard to find a partner out at sea."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Just set anchor and made my way here for a good night."

"We're not so different." The fox chuckled. "I've set anchor at this stool and I've been waiting to make your night."

Poet threw his head back and laughed. "Now that's a tall tale, yet a fine proposition." He met the fox's warm stare.

"Aye. So, a sailor." The fox's bright blue eyes scanned his body up and down. "Without the physique of a labourer. Curious." He cocked his head.

"Ah, I'm the entertainer." Poet flourished a hand through the air and did a short bow. "I stop the crew going mad and bring a bit of levity where others cannot." He spoke like it was an absolute truth. His cheeks warmed at the memory of how he cut Brunswick and Clement down to size.

"I'll say." The fox's eyes bore into his own. "Do you play?" He nodded to the corner where a raven strummed delicately at a lyre.

"A viola."

"Gorgeous."

"And." Poet puffed up his chest. "I'm quite the vocalist too."

The fox tilted his head, his sultry gaze fell lower and lower. "Yeah?" He lifted a finger under the bird's beak and smiled into his eyes. "I'm rather fond of a man who can hold his breath." A wry grin grew on the fox's face.

"So forward." Poet leant forward to nuzzle his neck. "I like that," he whispered.

"Name's Scoot." He shuffled to put an arm around Poet's shoulders. "And I'll be plying you with alcohol tonight."

"Poet," the bird replied. "And I'd be charmed if you did."

*****

Brunswick lay on the floor of his room, staring at the ceiling. Doomed thoughts circled his mind and brought uneasiness to his chest. He didn't want to disembark in so foul a mood. Poet had struck a nerve. His words were callous, as they often were. But it wasn't the meaning of the words that bothered him. It was the bird's lack of restraint and the vitriol with which he spat them. It was cruel. It was targeted on his past, his problems. A cheap shot to the coldest part of his heart. Brunswick felt numb.

Poet was someone he begrudgingly called a friend. They hadn't a rich friendship, or a merry one, but it was a warm companionship that had oft grown heated in various ways. Be it anger or passion, he was someone Brunswick confided in often. He'd even tried to be sensitive to the bird's vanity and fluttering desires.

To have that thrown back in his face and used against him hurt in ways he hadn't felt since leaving home. It was troubling, because that had ended in slaughter. And while he spoke violent game and thought violent thoughts, he never truly believed he'd hurt someone aboard The Burning Anne. But clearly Poet did not feel the same.

Brunswick clutched a paw to his bloodied shoulder, where the bird's thick beak had punctured his flesh. It brought no good thoughts to mind. A hiss shaped the cat's face as he sat up. He needed a stiff drink. It was a special occasion to be lost in dark thoughts on the night of a landfall. He had so many bad decisions to make. He snatched his purse, left his dagger behind and stormed out into the dark night.

He wasn't sure where the night would take him, he only needed it to take him. He stopped at the first bar he came across to wet his throat with a bitter ale. It was too noisy, too gritty and he wasn't drunk enough to want to get in a fight yet so he moved on.

He sampled another beer elsewhere before he found himself outside The Overture Den. The classier establishment called to him. It was packed to the gills and full of a more demure crowd.

Feeling a little tipsy, he stalked the quieter side of the tavern where a number of gamblers had set up shop. Most were playing cards which left a foul taste in Brunswick's mouth. Though he figured they'd be slim pickings for his sleight of hand, the thought of playing another hand brought the taste of ash to his mouth. But a lone boar who sat with a small stash of coins to his side and some dice in front of him caught his eye.

Brunswick dropped into the seat opposite, a wide grin on his face. Dice were easy. Dice were fair. He couldn't at cheat them, only be cheated by them.

"Triples over eight." He plucked three coins from his purse. He'd wager them for a chance at triple in return should the sum of his two dice be greater than eight. It was a suggestion he might be a highroller, someone keen to whet the appetite of a rapacious dicer, as this boar seemed to be.

He tossed the dice. Four and two. Six.

He snorted. "How much is the splashback?" For wagering more than double, he'd have to fess up even more for losing. It was protection against a lucky roll wiping the table clean.

"Hmm." The boar rubbed at his chin. "For a fine cat like you? A fifth."

Brunswick whistled. "Good rate." He pinched a few coins out to cover himself and offered them up across the table. But the boar grasped his hand as he collected it.

"Barley," he spoke with gusto and shook the cat's hand.

"Brunswick."

Barley was tall enough to tower over him, with leathery brown skin and short tusks that poked out from the corners of his lips and gave his expression an almost hostile sneer. Despite that, he smiled warmly. He wore a linen button-down with warmer wool underneath, the sort of thing a working man might wear to dress up. It gave him a sense of authenticity which could prove dangerous, because the man was a gambler no matter how real he seemed.

"Doubles over nine." Brunswick held up a single coin. The boar dipped his head to agree to the bet. The cat threw the dice. Two and six. Eight. He grimaced and let the coin clatter to the table.

"Haven't seen you 'round here before," Barley said.

"Just docked this afternoon."

"Ah. Pirate?"

Brunswick smirked. That was a question one was never meant to ask, nor were you meant to answer. It could be incriminating, or could undermine a ship's reputation. But there was something too personable about the boar that made Brunswick want to answer true.

"Good pick." He winked.

Barley smirked. "The blue gave it away." He tapped himself on the shoulder. Brunswick wore a blue overcoat, which, thinking about it now, was a bit more of a statement than he'd intended to make.

"Fourfold on seven." He held up four coins.

Barley tilted his head in thought before he nodded. "What's your plan for the night?"

Brunswick threw the dice. They clattered about the table. Five and one.

He huffed. "Feel like making regrets." He licked his lips.

"Yeah?" The boar grinned as he paid the splashback.

"Do you get much trouble in here?"

"Sometimes. Shame you weren't here an hour ago, some birdfolk got escorted out for causing a ruckus."

Brunswick grimaced. "Did they have blue and white plumage?"

The boar gave a hearty nod. "I see their reputation precedes them."

The cat threw back his head and laughed. "Unfortunately we share a crew."

"Ah. Suppose that fox is one of yours as well then?"

The question hung in the air for a moment. "Nope."

"Mhmm." Barley winked. "They were gettin' a little too personal at the bar."

"Yeah?" Brunswick took a delicate sip and looked him straight in the eyes. "Doubles under eight." The cat dropped a handful of coins on the table. It was below rate, no dicer worth his salt would ever accept it.

But Barley met his stare, shot him a wink and rolled anyways. Five and four. Nine. Brunswick winced.

"Rough night." The boar shook his head as Brunswick offered up his losses. "Maybe something sterner to set you straight?"

Breath streamed through the cat's lips. "I won't say no to your generosity." It was a little alarming, like Barley's real game was to drink him stupid enough to fumble his entire purse on a bad roll. The boar whistled down a barmaid for a round of rum. Which sounded fun until she placed two heavy mugs of the spirit between them.

Brunswick cocked his head but raised his drink. "To Barley, who wants to send me to the closest gutter." He took a hesitant gulp, expecting it to be watered down.

It wasn't. He spluttered as he swallowed. It was intense, but it had a warm cinnamon aftertaste and delicate floral notes that grew on his palette.

The boar laughed, the sound a deep rumble. "To new friends who can't hold their grog." He threw back a hearty mouthful without hesitation.

"Friends?" Brunswick quirked an eyebrow at that. It was a common gamblers tactic to try and build a sense of connection.

"Try me."

"Tenfold under six." He plucked five coins from his purse.

Barley gave him an incredulous look. "If you'd won a single roll tonight I'd have sent you packing. But go on." He nodded to the dice.

The cat snatched them off the table, clenched them in a fist which he raised to his lips and whispered a desperate plea. He threw them. Six and four. Ten.

Barley shook his head. Brunswick grimaced as he dropped a silver mark on the table to cover his losses and took a frustrated swig of his drink. It burned. He grimaced and had another sip. Some nights were like this. It was a recurring issue he faced, all or nothing again and again. The crew of The Burning Anne had dubbed him luck-eater because normal odds never seemed to work right when he was involved.

"Doubles over two," he muttered and placed a single coin on the table.

Barley loosed a pitiful laugh and nodded. He took another firm swig of his drink as he watched the feline roll the dice. Snake eyes. Two ones. The only roll that could lose.

The boar blinked at the space between them. He shook his head and stared, incredulous. "There's no way."

Brunswick snatched his mug and poured half the drink down his throat. He coughed and wheezed as he swallowed then grimaced at the dice. There was a decent chunk of money on the table now and he wanted at least part of it back. Rational thoughts tugged at his mind. He ignored them.

He was in too foul a mood to care and the thought of losing at such a simple game irked him to no end.

"What's the trick?" he asked.

"No trick."

"Then what are the odds?"

Barley leant back for a moment. "To lose all those rolls?" His brow furrowed. "I can add it up but at some point all that becomes meaningless."

Brunswick scoffed, bitter as he threw back what was left of his drink. He winced as it went down. Too much liquor too fast, but that was a problem for tomorrow. "There's this lizard on my ship. Bit of a freak."

"Yeah?" The boar tilted his head.

"He can shift the tide with a wave of his hand." The cat paused to burp. "And scatter stormclouds in our path. It's terrifying, but, he's one of a kind. Someone with only a fraction of his power though." He hissed. "I reckon they could twist the roll of the dice."

Barley held his gaze for a long moment. Tense silence fell between them.

The boar threw back his head and laughed so heartily it made the entire table shake. He slammed a fist down and wheezed, hardly able to breathe. It took him three tries to compose himself but couldn't bury the wide grin that split his face.

"I like you." The boar's voice took on a gilded tone. "You reckon I'd be a dicer if I could what, shift objects with my mind?"

Brunswick's glare faded. An embarrassed grin grew on his lips. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps! He says perhaps! You wound me, were I capable I'd cut out the middleman and float your purse right out of your grasp." He shot a meaty hand over the table and raised it as his fingers curled, like he was trying to conjure forth the coin from Brunswick's pocket. He barked a coarse laugh as nothing happened.

The cat's cheeks warmed. He grabbed a fistful of coin and dropped it on the table. "You pick the odds. You pick the wager. You roll the dice. My money on the line."

Barley nodded. "Doubles over seven." He shot back a wink. It was a default bet of sorts, ever so slightly stacked in the dicer's favour but the odds were so tantalising. He shook the dice and threw them. Three and five, eight. A winning roll, at last. He smirked and counted Brunswick's earnings off of the table, but instead of passing them over he whistled for a barmaid and used the coins for another round of rum.

"Only seems fair, eh?" He smiled warmly. Their eyes met, there was something gentle in the boar's eyes. A fondness that tickled Brunswick's chest and drew a smile out of him.

He had more bad decisions to make tonight. And so they gambled, growing progressively more raucous as the night progressed. His coin purse grew lighter and lighter while Barley's bulged and the liquor flowed. When the closing call went out they both wobbled to their feet and shuffled out, hardly able to walk straight.

They stood outside the tavern, feeling silly. Feeling alive. The lantern lights about the street glowed with halos the size of the moon in the sky. Brunswick giggled as he glanced to the boar, who looked down so adoringly upon him.

Barley nudged him against the wall, his tusks pressed into the soft grey fur of Brunswick's face as they shared a filthy kiss. He tasted of rum and stank of sweat, the boar's body a fire to the feline's senses. He kissed with weight and passion, his hands scoured Brunswick's body out in the open. The cat scrambled back, eager to mirror the contact. His fingers brushed something fat and plump.

Barley withdrew from the kiss, leaving Brunswick a panting, dishevelled mess.

"I've a room a few streets down." He stroked a fat finger under the cat's chin. "Come be my nasty pussy."

The request hung in the air and burned in Brunswick's ears. The cat laughed, amused. Amazed. Interested. "Yeah?" He stared up at the boar, his paw braced on the front of Barley's pants.

Barley made a low sound as he wriggled his finger past the cat's lips. Brunswick lapped at him eagerly. "Mmm." The boar's cock throbbed through his clothes. "This way, kitten." He nudged Brunswick up the street.

Kitten.

The word burned a hole in the cat's thoughts. At any other time, for any other person he'd bite back something equally as insulting. But drunk and drowning in lust for this boar... he could be Barley's kitten. He'd even quite enjoy that.

The boar took him to a shared establishment nearby. He unlocked the door and stepped to the side, gesturing for the cat to head in first. Barley walked up close behind him, a heavy hand rubbed down his back. A finger paused to coil around his tail. Brunswick exhaled and pressed back into the contact.

They were in a dimly lit corridor and there was a risk someone might see them getting physical but he was drunk and all he had left to lose were the clothes on his back. He looked forward to that. The boar slapped his ass and chased him to a door on the second floor. He slipped a key in the lock and grabbed the front of Brunswick's shirt to hoist him through the door.

The boar kicked the door shut. "I can fix a bad luck charm." Barley stuffed a hand down Brunswick's pants as he cornered the feline against a wall. "Just do as I say."

Brunswick moaned as the boar's thick fingers grasped his cock. He crept up on the tips of his toes for a kiss.

Barley forced his tongue into Brunswick's mouth and worked the cat's cock until a drop of pre coated him. He pulled back from the kiss and pressed his finger into the feline's mouth, who lapped at it obediently.

"Mmmm." Barley grunted. "Take your clothes off little kitty." The warm growl in his throat teased the rising excitement in Brunswick's body.

He watched intently as Brunswick shed his overcoat. The cat smiled back, a hand on the fluffy white fur of his belly. Barley exhaled slowly, desire painted all over his face. Brunswick's hands swept south, guiding the boar's eyes to his waist. He tugged his pants off. Now wearing only a pair of tenting underwear, Barley made a breathy sound.

"Such a gorgeous kitten," the boar cooed as he stepped forward for another kiss. His meaty hand fondled Brunswick through the thin cloth. The cat moaned into his mouth. "Take it off."

Brunswick dropped the final garment. He was six inches hard, his cock curved ever so slightly upwards over his plump sack. So full from the inactivity of being at sea.

Breath streamed through Barley's lips. "You're so..." He tickled a finger against the cat's balls as he searched for a word. "I want to mess you up," he muttered. Brunswick made a breathy sound at the contact. "Turn around." He turned and braced his arms against the wall, his ass poked back. His tail swished as it fell to the side.

"That's my good pussy." Barley's voice lowered to a growl as he prodded a finger against Brunswick's pink hole. The cat moaned. "Tell me how bad you want it."

"I need you to fill me up." He pushed back against the finger and rubbed his sensitive flesh against it while he moaned. "Fuck me."

"Yeah?" Barley stepped forward and thrust his bulge teasingly against the cat's hole. The boar's fat cock felt huge through the cloth. Brunswick's knees went weak in anticipation. "There's my good kitten." Barley cooed as he wrapped his arms around Brunswick and lifted him effortlessly. "There's so much I'm going to do you," his gravelly voice whispered in the cat's ear.

A shiver went down Brunswick's spine. He felt loose in the boar's hold. Barley kicked open the door to the bedroom. It was a small room, but neatly kept. The scent of its owner hung heavy in the air and heavier in Brunswick's nostrils. Barley carried him to the bed and lay down. He placed the cat on his chest and ran a thick finger up the underside of Brunswick's cock. The cat shivered at the contact. Barley licked his finger and rumbled in pleasure at the sweet taste of Brunswick's pre.

The boar shuffled up against the headboard, a filthy grin on his face. "You're so good, but are you my nasty pussy?" Brunswick nodded. The boar unbuttoned his shirt with the jingling of a coin purse. "Then you should smell like me." He lifted his arm to show the dense hair of his armpit. His scent filled the air, so warm and a little pungent. Earthy and masculine enough to make Brunswick salivate. He leant in and rubbed his face in the boar's pit, where his musk was so strong it clung to his nostrils and coated his fur.

"That's my good kitten." Barley breathed through clenched teeth. "I wanna screw your tight ass so bad." His hand landed on the cat's rear, a single thick finger prodded at Brunswick's hole. He moaned into the boar's armpit. He could hardly contain himself. All his thoughts twisted around Barley's commands. In no other situation would he ever carry himself so obediently, but pleasing the boar meant the world and more to him in this moment.

"So good." Barley spoke gently as he traced his finger around the cat's hole. He exhaled in bliss as Brunswick's tail fell to swish against the back of his hand. "You're so tight." The boar rumbled as he wet his finger and braced it against the cat's quivering hole.

Brunswick's voice curled as he lapped at Barley's sweat. The flavour was intense. Salty and raw, the scent of it climbed the back of his throat and filled his thoughts with passion. He doubled his efforts, nuzzling his entire head into the boar's pit. Barley's thick finger pressed into his hole. He gasped, his tail curled as the sensation forced him to focus on easing the tension in his chest.

"Mmmh." Barley's deep voice sunk as he screwed his finger in down to the knuckle. Brunswick shuddered and collapsed forward, his entire weight resting in the nook of the boar's arm. The boar's finger rubbed at his prostate and drew pre from his tip, he couldn't stop himself from humping Barley's side.

"Spin 'round," the boar commanded. Brunswick grunted as he adjusted on Barley's body. The air he breathed was tinged entirely by musk. He crawled to bury his face in the boar's crotch and raised his ass. Barley shrugged out of his shirt, which he threw across the room. It landed with a heavy crash, the bloated coin purse within jingled. The sound caught in Brunswick's head.

"Such a tight kitten." Barley's warm hands cupped the cat's cheeks as he spread Brunswick's hole. The boar growled, desire made obvious. Brunswick unclasped Barley's belt and tugged his pants down. The boar's briefs were tenting sharply. A faint wet spot darkened the fabric at the peak of the tent. Brunswick lapped at the cloth, which drew a steady exhalation from the boar.

The garment was flavoured by the boar's sweat and scent which danced across his palette. Brunswick nuzzled it as the boar pressed another finger back into him. All inhibitions lowered by drink and desire he mewled softly at the penetration.

"Here kitty, here," Barley cooed as he pulled down his briefs. His thick cock was topped by a thicker head which oozed precum as it flopped against Brunswick's face. It was huge, at least nine inches and as wide as Brunswick's palm. The scent of him was overpowering. Raw notes filled the air, now even earthier and beyond masculine.

It stoked a fire in the cat's belly. He couldn't help himself. He crammed his muzzle in Barley's sack and huffed the boar's heady aroma. It made him shiver. Made him purr. His tongue glided across Barley's heavy nuts, quietly moaning as the salty taste of the boar's sweat coated his mouth.

"Such a good kitten." Barley stroked the back of Brunswick's ears as his other hand turned a finger deeper in.

Brunswick lifted his head. The boar's sweat coated his palette and filled his nostrils. It was so overwhelming, so encouraging. He was Barley's nasty kitten. And he wanted more. He dragged his tongue up from the base of the boar's thick cock and moaned as he tasted the sweet precum at the tip. Barley's eyes shut, a low moan escaped his lips as Brunswick lapped at the head of his cock. The cat was dripping precum on Barley's belly.

"Mmm. Look at you." Barley grunted, thrusting his hips against the cat's muzzle. He freed his finger to grasp Brunswick's cock, which throbbed dangerously in his hand. "Cum for me." He stroked his broad tongue across the feline's ass. Brunswick's entire body shuddered, so overcome with pleasure. Another spurt of pre ran from his cock.

"How long's it been?" Barley nuzzled his taint and dragged his tongue right up to the base of Brunswick's tail.

The feline gasped as he thrust his hips at the air. "Months," he moaned into the thick cock as he forced himself down on it.

"That's it." Barley jerked the cat, steady. Careful and caring. "Go on." The strokes were firm and unrelenting. Brunswick's hips clenched. He groaned as the boar's broad tongue pressed against his hole. He rose off of Barley's cock and arched his back, a low moan slipped through his lips and the pleasure within him swelled.

Barley's tusks pressed against his ass as the boar poked his tongue inside. Pleasure quivered though his chest. The muscles in his thighs eased as he tried to urge Barley in deeper. The boar flicked his tongue, slurping as he filled the cat's hole. His hand never stopped working Brunswick's throbbing cock.

The constant strokes were too much. Brunswick mewled as the wave of pleasure within hip rose past what he could handle. His cock throbbed as a pent up spurt of cum shot with enough force to splatter.

"Mmm, that's it." Barley kept tugging at him as another two thick ropes coated the boar's belly. The pleasure was so overwhelming, Brunswick clenched his eyes shut. He thrust his hips against Barley's hand and purred as the boar continued to jerk him once the orgasm passed.

He leant to the side and crashed into the mattress. Entire body heaving with each breath. "Fuck," he muttered between pants.

Barley smacked his lips as he licked at the cat's cum on his hand. "Damn you taste good." He chuckled. "Sweetest pirate yet."

"Yeah?" Brunswick lifted his head to the mess he left on the boar's chest. He lapped at his own spunk and purred. "Guess so."

"Oh fuck." Barley's voice cut low. "Do that again." He dragged his tongue over where it all gathered, keeping eye contact. The boar shuddered, a blissful smile on his face. "That's my fucking kitten." He dropped a heavy hand to stroke the cat's ears. "Look what you did." Brunswick glanced at Barley's cock, a clear drop of pre ran from the slit.

"You're so big," Brunswick grinned as he reached out with his paw to jerk it slowly.

"You can fit it." Barley's voice crept lower. "You gonna ride this cock for me?"

Brunswick nodded. He straddled Barley, excitement tingled in his chest. It had been a while since he'd taken anything and the boar was a lot to take. He swished his tail as he lined himself up, staring into Barley's eyes. There was an eagerness on the boar's face. A hunger waiting to be sated. A passion rearing to go.

The wet tip of Barley's cock poked at Brunswick's hole. A shiver went through the cat's body. Desire filled his thoughts. He pressed back and gasped as the flared tip spread his cheeks.

"Nice and slow." Barley lifted a hand to stroke the cat's chin. Brunswick pushed himself firmer against the boar's cock. "That's it." He grunted as he relaxed into it, jaw clenched as he worked himself down. Each inch brought with it a growing pleasure that only made him more and more focused on taking it all. He had to, even as he felt himself stretch more than he had in months. Despite a touch of straining, the sensation warmed his belly. He purred as he sunk lower. Barley growled through a long breath, the vibrations bubbled pleasure though him.

Brunswick groaned as he bottomed out. His mouth hung open, he spat a tight exhalation. His tail fell limp against the boar's thighs. He could hardly draw breath, it was so overwhelming.

"Such a good kitten." Barley's thumb pressed into his mouth. The pressure on his tongue made his eyes bulge. He worked his hips, moaning as he shifted in the boar's lap. His thoughts lurched towards a fantasy of the boar stuffing him. Of Barley's cum filling his hole. He wanted to do a good job. He wanted to please this man. He felt so woozy, yet so alive.

He rose up a little as he thrust himself back down on Barley's cock. The boar moaned as he leant back, his hands tucked behind his head as he watched the feline bounce dutifully in his lap. There was a wide grin on his face that said it all. They held eye contact for a long moment.

Kitten.

Brunswick was his kitten. His whore. His pleasure. His. The boar owned him. He smelled too much like Barley to refute it. He forced himself down into the boar's lap. Barley's thick cock plunged deep within him. He moaned out loud as pre ran from his cock. Barley swept it up with a finger which he forced into the cat's mouth and ground into Brunswick's tongue.

The taste of his finger.

The smell of his body.

The sound of his grunts, his moans.

The sensation of his thick cock throbbing.

The drunkenness that skewed them both.

The overwhelming assault on Brunswick's senses was too much. He threw his entire body into pleasing the boar. He hopped in Barley's lap, gasping out loud as he rose and fell with a hearty slap on the boar's thighs.

Barley's expression melted under the pleasure. His lips hung loose, his tusks downturned as he shuddered and groaned. His own hips reacted instinctively to the sensation of Brunswick's squatting. Barley's hands rose to toy with the cat's nipples. Brunswick yowled as the coarse contact rose to a forceful pinch on the sensitive skin. He paused to moan and regather himself, his cock leaking pre in a heady strand.

Barley exhaled, a grin on his face as he leant forward to cup the cat's back. He stood suddenly, clutching Brunswick as he toppled forward and pinned the cat under his weight. Brunswick mewled under him, barely catching his breath as the boar's thick cock pressed back into his hole. He buried his moan in the boar's chest as he lapped at Barley's nipple. The boar growled low, the sound stretched and quivered with the pleasure that buzzed through him. He dug his fingers into Brunswick's shoulders as he thrust hard and heavy enough to creak the bed.

Brunswick's head lolled back, his eyes clenched shut as he tried to hold himself through the overwhelming sensation. But Barley gave him little respite. The boar's cock bore down within him. He squirmed and moaned at each thrust. The pre leaking from his cock wet the fur of his belly and smeared up Barley with every new swing of the boar's hips.

Warmth and passion echoed through both of their drunken minds as they devolved into an erratic pile of pants and groans. The steady slap of Barley's balls matched another squeal from the bed frame as his pace accelerated. His thick cock speared again and again into Brunswick's tight ass. The cat's claws pricked at Barley's back as it became too much but still the boar pressed harder.

More eager. More excited. Arousal burned so bright within him it nipped urgency at his heels as he continued to accelerate. To mix moans and growls in the air around them until Brunswick lay catatonic under him, barely able to draw breath. The cat's paws fell to the sheets as Barley lay firmer atop him, panting firmer and firmer.

"I'm so close." Barley growled as he thrust his hips. His balls slapped against the cat's cheeks. "My kitten." The words came senseless, their utterance so far removed from raw pleasure that caught like sparks against the heat of the words. He thrust a moment longer, then exhaled sharply as he came to rest.

Gently, his hand lifted the cat's chin. "Beg me for it." Their gazes met.

Brunswick took a moment to suck in a lengthy breath. He hadn't quite processed the words but his body ached for more. The pleasure that thrummed through him tilted discordantly. "Keep going," he spoke meekly and tried to move his hips but the boar's weight pinned him in place. Barley's grin deepened as he pulled back. His cock slipped from the cat's stretched hole.

"Beg." The word was clad with force.

Brunswick's face tightened, his scowl rose and fell in an instant. "Don't do this," he said. Barley only snorted. "Keep fucking me." No response. "C'mon."

The boar's cool gaze only brooked disappointment which struck a urgency like a match in Brunswick's thoughts.

"Please. Please I need it so bad." He shuddered, the words grated on his tongue. No part of him was this, yet under Barley it was all he craved with every fibre of his being. The desperation rung plain in his words. "Cum in me please." He grunted as he tried to coax his hips, anything to get the boar to move.

Barley's cock throbbed. "Come on kitten, like you mean it," he spoke so smugly. Like he delighted in how Brunswick squirmed and begged.

"It's been months. Please. Just-" A frustrated hiss rose in his throat. "Please." He spat the word with vigour. "Please Barley." He added.

The boar smirked as he dipped forward to force his tongue into his kitten's mouth. The motion came so swiftly that Brunswick was hardly ready. As he tasted the boar's spit, he felt Barley's weighty cock push back into him.

"Better." The boar thrust firmly but didn't continue. "But more."

An exasperated sound slipped from Brunswick's lips. "Fuck me. I need you to-" The cat groaned as Barley slipped a hand between them to pinch Brunswick's nipple. The hiss that followed tapered off into a ragged moan as Brunswick tried to work himself on the boar's cock.

Barley was close, he could feel it in how the boar tensed and grunted. But as the cat threatened to work it harder, Barley threatened another retreat. "I told you to beg," the boar's gruff voice rumbled around them.

"I need it so bad." Brunswick whimpered. The thought burned a hole in his head, to come so far and be denied right at the end coaxed desperation out of him. "Please- I'm your kitten." Eagerness burned in the boar's eyes at the word. "Fuck your kitten," Brunswick urged. "Pound your nasty pussy." The words dripped with desire. "Please." His voice curled with breath as the boar thrust into him with a growl. "Please master." Brunswick blinked as he spoke. He wasn't sure what possessed him to say it.

Barley crashed into him and howled with renewed vigour as he slammed his thick cock over and over into his kitten's tight hole. The warmth. The pleasure. The sounds, the scent. The passion spilled far past what he could contain.

His voice rose along the rampant slapping of his heavy nuts on Brunswick's taint. The cat lay flat and weak under the force of it, barely able to do more than mewl at the pleasure.

Barley arched his back and exhaled heavily. His hands clutched on Brunswick's shoulders as his orgasm thundered through his chest. He moaned aloud as he pounded a load into the small cat. Spurt after spurt of cum shot deep within Brunswick. Barley groaned as he kept thrusting, growing weaker and weaker as his cock squelched at the mess that filled his kitten.

"Fuck." Barley panted as he pulled free. His cock was still throbbing, covered in his own spunk. Brunswick leant forward to lap at a bead of cum as it gathered on the boar's tip.

Barley moaned at the contact. "Fuck me. Such a good kitten." He humped at the cat's face, marking Brunswick with cum. The cat purred, greedily lapping at the stringy ropes of the boar's seed as they smeared through his fur. Barley collapsed back on his ass. Sweat beaded on his forehead and wet the dense chest hair that coated his torso.

His breaths curled as Brunswick refused to stop lapping broad strokes up the boar's throbbing cock. He dragged the cat to his side, watching with a meaty hand atop Brunswick's head as the feline's bristly tongue brushed over and over along his cock, which slowly started to deflate.

As the pleasure faded to a warm buzz in his belly, he jabbed a finger in the cat's wet hole. "You're a mess." He slicked it in his own spunk and pressed it to the cat's lips. "I wanna do more." Brunswick's coarse tongue lapped at the digit. Barley grinned. "Gotta reward your obedience." He tugged Brunswick into his lap and wrapped a firm hand around the feline's cock, so slicked with pre it coated the boar's entire palm.

"Again." He mumbled. "Come on kitten." He worked Brunswick's cock. "Again for me."

The cat fell back against the boar's chest and thrust his hips into Barley's hand. Though he'd already finished tonight before he was so pent up another wasn't far off. He gave in to the boar's rough strokes and went loose in Barley's hold.

Brunswick's back arched. He made a tight sound, his mouth hung open. The boar squeezed his cock. The encouragement was so firm. The contact so frantic. Barley tugged at him in rapid strokes that grew erratic the more Brunswick coiled and moaned in his grasp. A second load splattered down Barley's hand. He panted in the boar's arms, so overwhelmed.

"Such a good little kitten." Barley cooed, and raised a sticky hand to the cat's face. Brunswick sucked in fast breaths as he lapped every drop of his own emissions from the boar's hand. Barley sighed when it was done. He wore a feisty grin as he lay down and bundled Brunswick tight against him once more. There they lay a long time, unspeaking as their breath returned to a comfortable pace.

The night grew long, but the excitement of their passion kept them awake through the drunkenness of the evening. Brunswick's thoughts drifted. It was good. Great even, but, he'd wagered a lot more than he'd intended to at Barley's table. Uh. He'd lost a lot more than he'd intended to, too. And though that troubled him, there was a fix for that. It felt devious, maybe a little too cold but his sensibilities were left back on The Burning Anne and his inhibitions drowned under mug after mug of rum.

"We should sleep," he muttered through a yawn.

"Mhm." Barley licked the back of one of his ears. "But what does my kitten want to do in the morning? Hm?" Barley's voice cut low, desire evident in the warmth of his words.

Brunswick grinned. There would be no morning to speak of, but he didn't need to know that. "Whatever you want."

"Yeah?" The boar licked his lips. "Another gambit then." He stroked a fat finger under the cat's chin. "First to rise does whatever they want."

"I'm game, but, I'll have a hangover." Brunswick spoke a little muted, like the realisation disappointed him.

Barley snickered. "I know you will." He tapped a finger to Brunswick's lips. "I don't wager on losing odds."

"If you say things like that your patrons might think you're using loaded dice." A hint of condemnation slipped into the cat's voice. A bad tell. He tried to reel it back as his thoughts re-oriented around the gambler he'd just bedded.

The boar snorted like he was offended by the suggestion. "They can think what they want, I'd never stoop so low. Lady Luck decides whether I sink or swim."

There was something a little rehearsed in the line. Inauthentic even. Brunswick's ears curled, his emerging plan refocused. He might've felt bad if the man wasn't a gambler but alas. For all the heat he could manage in bed, the man was a cold dicer to make a living.

Barley cradled him tight. The boar's semi-erect cock braced against his ass. Barley's thick arms crossed his shoulders. The warmth and firmness of his hold was so enticing, yet Brunswick couldn't rest.

He glowered at the darkness, waiting. He was tired, he felt ill but he knew what he had to do. He waited 'til Barley snored and loosened his grasp, then waited longer still. Until Brunswick was certain the boar was deep asleep.

He slunk out of the bed and tiptoed to where clothes lay in scattered piles. He held his breath, silent as he rummaged through Barley's pockets until he found the boar's weighty coin purse strapped on the inside of his shirt.

He dressed in a hurry and slunk away, a bitter grimace on his face. Part of him wanted nothing more than to stay, to wake up in the boar's hold with no choice but to endure the pleasure they'd make together. Instead, the world spun. He felt like he wanted to puke and he still had to make it back to The Burning Anne while toting a small fortune.

Any vagrant with an eye for caution could roll him for all he was worth. He strode off at a rapid pace and turned into a side street where he burst into a sprint and laughed to himself.

Stupid. So stupid. The coin purse jingled with every footfall, every thief this side of the town would've had their ears perked up. But it was a straight shot back to The Burning Anne, where he dropped the purse under his bed and collapsed, shaking. Laughing.

He felt sick. Nausea welled in his chest but adrenaline flooded his system.

A good night, all things considered.

*****

Poet sucked in a long breath. Scoot dozed at his side, the fox's arms were tangled around his body. He lifted his head, trying to peer through the dark. This mattress was uncomfortable and he missed his nest upon The Burning Anne. He squirmed his way out of the embrace, bothered by the overwhelming affection the fox gave. Scoot was so forward with his affection. Three ales in and the fox's paws were wandering. He'd draped himself over the bird with an unseemly eagerness.

Even as the barkeep shouted them out of the tavern, Scoot couldn't keep his hands free of Poet's body. Though the contact was less sensual than the bird had first expected. The fox liked to hug. And plant kisses on every feather. And then whisper soft, seductive words about how exquisite and beautiful Poet was. It was charming, if a bit overwhelming but the bird met his interest heartily.

Poet was careful not to rouse Scoot and dressed from the crumpled pile of their clothes by the door. The fox was sweet. The kind of saccharine stickiness that Poet could easily fall for and heartbreak was not part of his trip to Briarton.

Scoot had taken him to some kind of barracks near the centre of town. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he figured he'd be able to make it back to the docks without too much issue. At the very least he just had to wander downhill to get most of the way there.

He stared back at the slumbering fox, a weird feeling in his breast. There was a part of him that wanted to stay. Scoot had been immediately interested and rather generous with both praise and alcohol.

But, he was also a bit daft. Like all he wanted to talk about was Poet and brag to himself that he'd caught such a catch. And maybe that could be forgiven over the inspired pillowtalk, tender intimacy and the fox's plentiful endowment but it wasn't enough to keep the bird caged the entire night.

It was however, enough for Poet to linger with a furrowed brow. The crew of The Burning Anne were nothing but ungrateful, often spiteful towards him. By contrast, Scoot was everything else. And after months at sea, he conceded to himself that maybe he deserved that. So maybe in some way, he deserved a man like Scoot. Whatever line of work he lived that demanded he sleep in a barracks had granted him attractive musculature and deep enough pockets to buy a night of drinks for two.

Poet's cheeks warmed as he flittered through hazy memories of the night. It had only been a few hours, but Scoot's praise and admiration had left a dozen pleasing quotes in his mind. The sort of words he had scarcely heard in years.

With uncertainty, he sat on the bed and placed a taloned hand on the fox's shoulder to shake him awake. Scoot's eyes shot open with a start. His mouth opened as if to say something, but when their eyes met he eased. "Poet." He couldn't even say the bird's name without a smile blessing his face.

Poet's belly warmed. "Couldn't sleep." He'd meant to say he was leaving.

Scoot tsked. He squirmed closer and wrapped thick arms around Poet's body, his warm snout brushed against the bird's feathered neck. "I'll hold you. Come." He pulled Poet back to the sheets and placed half a dozen more kisses on his beak.

There was something almost possessive about it which only soured Poet's thoughts. He'd hoped maybe they could talk some more. That the fox could say kind things once again and sway his thoughts. Still, he eased his head back on the pillow and drew careful breaths as Scoot's warm hand circled over his shirt.

If the fox noticed Poet was dressed, he made no mention of it. Instead he made a tired sound and squeezed the bird gently. Scoot's nakedness made itself clear as something warm swelled against Poet's tailfeathers and for a heavy moment the bird was smitten with the thought of another round until a loud snore shattered the possibility. Scoot was asleep again in an instant. In his arms, Poet smouldered. He felt teased.

He lay there for a time, frustrated. It made the fox an easy target to unload all of his misgivings for his crewmates aboard The Burning Anne. With an eventual huff, he forced his way from the fox's hold and crept out of the room. He tiptoed down a corridor, unsure where he was going, but there was a lantern at the end of the hall. Sounds echoed out of the dorms as he passed them by. Mostly snoring. Mostly. His cheeks burned as he hung a left, headed for what he hoped to remember as the entrance. He wound up in a small foyer lit only by a single candle. Relief filled him as he strode for the door.

"Who the fuck..." A gruff voice spoke from the shadows behind him.

He froze and spun. There was a weasel kitted up in chainmail with a broadsword at his hip. Though short, the guard was imposing at this hour. Poet raised his hands, heart beating frantically in his chest.

"J-just on my way out," he stuttered as he spoke. The weasel jumped to his feet, blade drawn. "I-I was with Scoot!" Poet's voice raised an octave. "S-stop, I'm going." He took a step back. The weasel shoulder checked him as he spun. Both of them clattered to the floor. A shrill scrawk sounded from the bird's throat, followed by the crack of a hilt to the back of his head.

Darkness filled Poet's vision as he crumpled.

*****

Brunswick woke the following morning with a pounding head and a dry throat. A funky odour floated about his bedroom that wrinkled his nose and warmed his cheeks as flashes of the previous night filled his head. He grimaced as he rolled out of bed, not a lick of feline grace to him as he crawled towards a barrel of fresh water and drowned himself under a pitcher. He drank too eagerly, the water spilled over his cheeks and chin. His paw came away slimy. He stared at his hand, aghast for a moment until he scrubbed his face clean of Barley.

He leant against the barrel, eyes screwed shut from the blinding midday sun. A whistle caught his attention. Clement stood over him. He wasn't sure how long the rabbit had been there.

"Seen Poet?" Clement asked. Brunswick gave a half-hearted shake of his head. "Hmm."

"He's probably in the bed of some vagrant," the cat mumbled. He belched and clutched his chest.

"You should know better than most he never stays the night." There was a hint of smugness to Clement's voice. Brunswick glowered.

"A little worried, is all," the rabbit added. Brunswick tried to shrug him off but Clement stared, every second added weight to the cat's shoulders.

Brunswick sighed. "I might have a lead."

"So chase it."

He hissed. "Lemme..." He braced a hand to his chest and swallowed a rise of nausea. "Get ready." Clement nodded and strode off. It didn't have to be a problem, but it was unusual whenever Poet did anything differently.

Brunswick grumbled as he rose. For how the bird had treated him, he'd be just fine if Poet had snuck off. He poked his head into the bird's room on the way out to the deck. Everything was pristine and in its place, except for Poet himself. His viola was untouched. Had that been missing too, it'd have been probable he'd skipped off to start a new life. He'd never leave it behind.

Despite himself, Brunswick frowned. Briarton wasn't the sort of town where coincidences went unnoticed. He wrinkled his nose and plucked a few coins from the side of the viola case, to cover the cost of a new deck of cards. At the touch of gold, he stiffened. Barley's purse was stashed under his bed. He chuckled to himself. It made his cheeks burn. A rare time his impulse hadn't landed him in trouble.

He went back to his room to freshen up. The hangover pounded in his skull and direct sunlight produced a sensation so unpleasant in his stomach he considered hiding in the ship's hold. Still, he was glad to be rid of the boar stink that had laced his fur. Normally he'd feel no shame over his escapades but two words rung about his skull. Kitten. Master. His lips pulled back in a senseless smile he couldn't contain. Maybe it was better he'd stolen from Barley and never had to think about crossing paths again.

Out on the deck Clement waited impatiently by the gangplank. Brunswick shambled up alongside him, stomach rolling as the ship buoyed gently with the tide. "You look awful." The rabbit smirked.

"Mmhm." Brunswick grit his teeth. "Don't appreciate you making this my morning."

"Any clue where to start searching?" Clement ignored him.

With a sigh, Brunswick replied. "I heard he got kicked out of The Overture Den." He clenched his eyes shut and grunted. "It's a tavern a few streets back from the dock." He took a deep breath to steady himself.

"You good?"

The cat dipped his chin. "Managing. It seemed a little greasy, but kempt. He was with a fox, I think. I'd be more surprised if he found trouble in a place like that but it is Briarton." Brunswick clenched the railing for stability. "I need to lie down. " But the rabbit's eyes were on him, expecting more. "Fine. I'll go do some digging." He drew in a tired breath. Had he not slighted Barley last night, he'd have a better clue where to start.

"I'll come with you."

"If you must." In truth, he was glad to have some company. But he'd never say that outloud. Crossing the gangplank felt treacherous. Holding himself upright was already a challenge, having to do it over murky water was far worse. But Clement picked a gentle pace as they wandered towards the tavern and the open air helped ease the nausea that scratched at his belly.

Clement whistled as The Overture Den came into view. "Nice place," he said and went to knock at the door. One of the barmaids answered, surprised to see patrons at this time.

"We're closed," she frowned.

Brunswick peered in the gap in the door, jolted and stepped to the side. Barley stood hunched over the bar, arguing with someone about something. Fury backed his words as they echoed out of the building.

"Uhh, sorry. You take this one buddy, I gotta... not be here." Brunswick offered the rabbit a meek look and slunk off to a nearby alleyway.

The barmaid shot them both a quizzical look.

"Right." Clement cleared his throat. "I'm looking for someone. Poet, he was here last night. Blue and white bird, might've left with a fox?"

The barmaid gave him a flat look. "I wasn't here last night but ask around if it comforts you." She welcomed him in. The tavern was empty, save a few staff rushing about to clean and prepare for another night, as well as the boar at the bar chewing the ear off the barkeep.

"Ho there." Clement strode over. The boar cut him a dangerous side-glance.

"What do you want?" He huffed.

"I'm looking for a friend." He addressed both the boar and the barkeep. "A bird, blue and white feathers. Goes by-"

"You're with that fucking cat!" The boar rounded on him. "Where is he? I'll wring his sneaky little neck."

Clement raised his hands defensively and wore a grimace. "I see you've met Brunswick." The boar growled. A heavy sigh left the rabbit's lips. "Look, he's a handful. I can-"

"I want my money back and if I can't get it from him I'll take it from you."

The barkeep whistled. "None of that Barley. You've no quarrel with this gent."

Clement winced and reached for something to ease his temper. "I think we both have quarrel with Brunswick actually."

"Yeah?" Barley glowered.

"He keeps cheating me at cards, and never pays his debts. So if he's got gold he's nicked I'd gladly help you take it off his hands."

"Does your captain know no discipline?" Barley sounded incredulous.

The rabbit shrugged. "Who's to say. But I'll tell you what. You help me find my friend, I'll help you shake down Brunswick."

Barley scrunched his eyes shut for a long moment then sighed. "Fine. But I want security. I'm coming with you."

"Sure." Clement suppressed a grimace. That would make things awkward, but Brunswick was clever. He'd work something out.

"Your friend left with a silver fox, comes in some nights. Sits at the bar, usually leaves alone."

"Ah." The barkeep piped in. "That'll be Scoot. Yeah, I chased them out. Frisky bunch, not appropriate for this establishment."

"What can you tell me about him?" Clement asked.

"He's a sellsword for the Blackthorn Marauders. Pisses away his pay here, nice fella. Bit stupid, but you'd have to be getting involved with the Marauders." The barkeep glanced up at the ceiling, thinking for a moment. "I think he'd be staying at the barracks on the north side of the town square, do with that what you will but if anything happens it wasn't me that told you."

Barley clenched a fist. "If you get me tangled with the Marauders, so help us both..."

Clement's ear flopped. "Not planning on tangling with anyone, just want to find out where Poet went. Tag along if you must, but for your help already I'll make sure you get your gold back."

The boar wrinkled his face. "I want to trust you, but I can't. So." He extended a hand. "You get your friend, I get my hands around that cat's neck."

A mirthful chuckle rose from Clement's throat. "That I would quite like to see." He shook Barley's hand with gusto.

"Best of luck fellas." The barkeep dipped his head. "Hope your bird's alright."

"Cheers." Clement cocked his head towards the door. "Shall we?"

Barley gave a hesitant nod and followed the rabbit outside. As Clement opened the door, he raised his voice to give Brunswick warning.

"So Barley, what do you do for a living?" He stressed the name.

"Cut the small talk and just get on with it." The boar snorted, he headed off down towards the town square. Clement glanced down the nearby alley to see Brunswick's head poking out from beside a broken barrel. The cat flashed a hand sign they used in raids - index, ring and pinky finger raised with a forward curl of the wrist. Go first.

*****

Brunswick's heart stopped the moment Barley stepped out of the tavern with Clement by his side. That did not bode well. He waved a signal to the rabbit. Anxiety clawed at his chest as he pondered how best to do this. He had a headache a mile wide which only confounded his thoughts. But one thing he knew for certain, Barley would gut him given the chance.

He scampered down the alley and turned onto a neighbouring street, moving fast made him feel sick. He chewed at his lip as he tried to guess their pace so he could track them through gaps in the buildings. He leant into each alley, ready to flinch back if Barley was even remotely looking in his direction. It worked, at first. But the streets started to diverge. The winding paths of Briarton seldom kept straight.

Brunswick waited on the far side of the next alley, heart in his throat as Clement and Barley passed. Carefully, he slunk closer to them. He poked his head out onto their street to track their progress. He waited, watching as they drew further and further away. He'd lose them if they turned. He wanted to scream, he had to brave the open.

He dashed towards the next alley, muttering obscenities under his breath until he was out of sight. He drew in a deep breath, about to make a run for his next hiding place.

"Spare a coin?" A gruff voice sounded to his side. An elderly man sat, clutching a threadbare blanket about his shoulders.

"Piss off." Brunswick warned him off with a glare. Nausea welled up within him.

"Then I'll take whatever you've got." The man's bones creaked as he stood, a rusted knife in hand. Brunswick stepped back. He wanted to shout. He wanted to laugh. There wasn't time to handle this properly, nor was he in the condition to scrap with anyone. The man took a swipe at his face. He stepped aside. It made his stomach roll. Shouldn't be doing this.

He threw himself onto the street and sprinted for cover behind a wagon where two workers were unloading crates. He dropped to the ground, panting. Nausea swirled within him. The old man shouted, his voice boomed down the street.

The workers looked about, unsure what to do. It was too much. Brunswick rolled to the side, coughed once and puked. He groaned over his mess. The workers both jumped back. He glanced up at them and wobbled to his feet. Part of him wanted to apologise. The rest of him was a mix of dread and fear. He poked his head out down the street. Clement and Barley were gone, must've turned somewhere. He shambled after where he'd last seen them, glancing down path after path to no avail.

With a frustrated grimace he picked a random street that pointed roughly west and walked. They started on the east side of town and walked north, so it seemed more likely he'd have a better chance in the west.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as the buildings around him grew more ramshackle. The convoluted paths of Briarton degraded to uneven dirt trials. There were eyes on him. Everywhere children played in the streets, their parents wandered about their business. But people were looking at him. He sucked in a cautious breath and spun on his heels to head back the way he came before more trouble found him.

As anxious thoughts brewed about his head he rounded a corner to see a tall silver fox donned in chainmail over padded clothes. A sword was sheathed at his hip. He walked alongside a gruff looking man with a dark thorn embroidered into his coat.

"I get we need more hands," the fox spoke with annoyance. "But you can't pressgang our companions."

"Oh please, you picked that whore up from a bar, we've raised his prospects," the man replied. Brunswick's ears burned. He crept silently after them, keenly listening.

"He's crew on a ship that just docked last night. Bad fight to pick."

The man scoffed. "Not in our city. Thanks for the recruit, go do your job or I'll have you raid them for more tomorrow."

The fox froze, a snarl died on his face. "Very well." He sounded deeply resentful as he took off down a side street. Brunswick chewed his lip. That had to be Poet's fox, which didn't bode well. Pressganged into the Blackthorn Marauders. The cat could've laughed. Perhaps the worst fate for the delicate bird who could scarcely tie a rope. Perhaps a fitting one, he conceded to himself.

Part of him wanted to turn back now. He'd chased his lead and he wasn't exactly well enough to do anything more. Best to tell Tehati and move on, too bad so sad. They were pirates. Loss wasn't that difficult a concept for them to reckon with. Besides, the ship would be quieter.

But Clement would be such a headache about it. Begrudgingly, Brunswick slunk after the fox. He didn't have to go far. The fox had ducked over two streets, to a quiet alley where he'd drawn his sword and hacked his frustrations into a discarded wooden beam.

His blade notched the wood with how hard he swung, it must've jarred him with every strike but still he continued. Anger shaped the snarl on his lips, he was so intent on channelling his fury he didn't notice Brunswick tiptoe to his side. He jolted as the cat came into view, his blade caught in the beam.

"What're you-"

Brunswick raised a hand. "You wouldn't happen to know a Poet, would you?" He had to fight down the groginess to keep his voice calm and steady.

The fox's brow darkened. "I might." He tugged his sword free from the wood and held it cautiously between them.

"I see, I see. Well if you happened to, the crew of The Burning Anne would like him back before there's need for consequences." Brunswick frowned at the sword. "In the event he's been pressganged, supposedly speaking, of course."

The fox glanced either side of the alley before he sheathed the blade. "Listen." He scrunched his eyes shut. "They've got him in chains at a storehouse near headquarters. I'm not happy about it but I dunno what consequences you reckon you're capable of but in the heart of Briarton with only one crew? Good luck to you."

"Hmm." Brunswick tapped his lips. "Sounds like lighter work for two unhappy men if one's on the inside."

"No." The fox scoffed. "I quite enjoy living. Give Poet a few years of hard labour and he'll be free enough." Though his words were callous, his expression was anything but. It looked like it troubled him to his core to even consider such a prospect.

"We'd grant you asylum for your help." Brunswick wasn't entirely sure if that was true or not, it wasn't up to him. "And Poet would forever be in your debt, if that's your thing." He winked.

A heavy exhalation fell from the fox's lips. He stared at the cat's face as he thought. "I... could be swayed. At least, to turn a blind eye. Maybe leave a door unlocked for the right pay." Of course. He was a mercenary, a man of few values aside the value of his employer.

"Doable, but a bold route to take when you've already complained to whoever that was about them nabbing your entertainment."

The fox flinched. "Would they- fuck. You're right. I fucking hate these Marauders." He turned his head and spat.

Brunswick nodded. "If you're that bothered by them clapping someone in cuffs, help us do something about it." Panic rose in the fox's eyes. He clenched a fist. "On top of doing the right thing I will also pay you more than whatever the Marauders have you on." The cat sighed, he was just talking big but as the words left his mouth he realised he meant it. In the unlikely situation the fox actually followed them back to the ship, he'd part with a chunk of Barley's purse to cover it. "You seem like an agreeable guy, so help us. We can drop you at any port on our way, or if it suits you. Stay aboard."

"Uh. Would, ah. Poet. Would Poet really be in my debt?" There was a tender undercurrent in the fox's voice. That was workable.

"Big time. He always pays his dues, often quite warmly." Brunswick spoke it firmly, though it couldn't be further from the truth.

The fox looked stunned. He stared up at the sky and drew in a long breath. "Alright. You're sure?" He chuckled, then shook his head. "This is stupid. I just- there's something kinda special about him, y'know?"

"Oh I know." Brunswick nodded in agreement to hide the sarcastic smile that pulled at his lips. The fox was a fool if he thought he'd win Poet's heart so simply.

"The thought of him in chains, it's- I feel like I sorta am to blame."

"Well go be his knight in shining armour." The cat winked again. "He's as romantic as they come." Maybe he was sweetening the pot too much, but it worked.

"Scoot." The fox grinned ear to ear as he stuck out a paw.

"Brunswick." They shook hands. "And welcome to the crew of The Burning Anne for as long as it brings you pleasure." He did not have permission to authorise anything of the sort, but Scoot didn't have to know that.

*****

Clement was nervous. The barracks lay before him with a guard at the gate. Even needing a guard told him everything he had to expect. These people were dangerous. He sucked in a deep breath as he approached. Barley withdrew behind him, out of hesitation or wanting to seem like backup he wasn't sure.

"Ho there." He nodded to the guard and got a quiet sneer in return. "We're looking for a fox called Scoot."

"For trouble or for business?" the guard asked.

"Business."

"Then you've got trouble 'cuz he's in our employ."

The rabbit sighed. Sellswords. "Not his business, per se."

"So it is trouble then." The guard snickered.

"Right." Clement frowned. "We're actually after someone else. Birdfolk by the name of Poet."

"Ah, the new recruit."

Clement raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" He punctuated the question with weighty disbelief.

"Scoot brought him in last night, fresh meat." The guard's voice rose in good humour. "If he's one of yours, well. Tough luck." The rabbit folded his arms. He wished Barley would do something. Say anything. At least try to look imposing. But the boar stood passively behind him.

"And who would I talk to about that?" he asked.

The guard shot him a blank expression then shook his head and laughed in his face. "A recruit's a recruit matey, can't be helped."

"I'm sure you'd like me to believe that." Clement's eyes narrowed. "But unless you're eager to draw the ire of The Burning Anne I suspect there's arms I can bend."

"Now there's a name that means nothing." The guard smirked. "Who are you again?"

Clement had hoped to handle this calmly but someone this far down the chain was probably clueless about how these things should be handled. "A jinx-eater who's dealt with raiders who make your lot look like sheep." He stepped forward, a harsh look on his face. "Now tell me where Poet is, or I'll come back here with a crew who's far more numerous and violent."

The guard stared into his eyes for a long moment. Barley stepped alongside him and towered over the man with his arms crossed. As the boar's shadow fell across his face, he stood down. "Alright. Point taken, but here's the deal. Your friend's at a storehouse doing some work for us. It's near our headquarters so if you try anything, even with a full crew you'll regret it." He snorted. "West side of town, square building to the left of the mansion with dark spires. Can't miss it."

"Wise choice." Clement offered him a gentle smile. "Thank you."

The guard took in an uncomfortable breath as they turned. Barley shook his fists out as they strode off. "I don't-" he muttered. "I shouldn't have done that," he said.

"Think you made the difference there."

"Yeah, but, I've tried very hard to keep my distance from the Marauders." He glanced back over the shoulder, the guard was at his post but looking the other way. "Don't want any of them to think about me twice."

"Ah well. Happens." Clement clicked his tongue. "Worth asking if your money's worth the fear."

The boar scoffed. "My money's worth a whole lot more than that."

"Bit of a fool thing to let Brunswick run off with it then, eh?"

"I was... preoccupied." Barley grumbled. "We were... tired. And drunk."

Clement gave a nod and laughed. "He's someone you only let your guard down around once."

"Mm. Bastard had me going, never had anyone cross me so coldly. Actually stings a bit." The boar exhaled sullenly.

"Sounds like him." The rabbit frowned, it was more vulnerability than he expected. "For what it's worth, he's an impulsive little freak. I'd wager he was interested right up until the opportunity arose."

"Pff. I'll be sure to keep that in mind when I'm wringing his neck."

They shared no other words as they crossed to the western side of town. Barley led the way, but even with his familiarity of the town they had to backtrack twice down winding paths that took them entirely unexpected directions.

Afternoon sun painted a gilded path towards the square on the western side of town. A small market was winding down by the time they made it. Merchants were packing up their goods, at least two of them were slavers. Clement eyed the cages warily, heart in his throat at the thought of Poet being amongst them. But the bird was nowhere to be seen.

At the back of the square was an imposing building, somewhere between a country manor and a fortress. It had ramparts yet looked almost like an estate, and the entire building was painted black. To its side was the square warehouse the guard had mentioned.

Clement gunned towards the entrance to the warehouse where two guards stood with eyes on the rabbit and hands on their scabbards. A pudgy finger prodded his shoulder.

"That's him," Barley whispered in his ear and pointed at the guard on the left. A silver fox who wore a nervous expression. "Scoot."

Clement stiffened. "Very well." He waved as he approached, trying to indicate he didn't want a fight.

"State your business." Scoot cocked his head, a sour look on his face like he was trying to intimidate them.

"I'm crew on The Burning Anne," as Clement spoke, the fox's ears fell. "And you have something that belongs to us."

Scoot turned to the other guard. "Go get the warden. I'll deal with them."

The guard nodded and entered the warehouse. The fox's jaw was clenched as he swung back to face Clement. "Listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you." His voice grew quieter and quieter until he was almost whispering. "Brunswick is inside. He's-"

"What!" Barley stared, incredulous. "That-"

"Shh." Clement swatted the boar's arm. "Go on."

Scoot took a deep breath.

*****

"I can't buy you an excuse but you'll have plenty of time." Scoot bit his lip. He stood with Brunswick in an alley beside the storehouse. Above them was an unlatched window. "Ready?"

The cat clenched fists and shook himself down. "Ready."

Scoot knelt to boost him up. With a forceful lift and a jump that was just shy of elegant, Brunswick clutched at the windowsill. His feet scrambled for purchase against the wall as he hoisted himself halfway through the gap.

The window opened into a stuffy storehouse, below him was a dusty shelf full of coiled wire and rope. His head lurched as he clambered through the window and tested a foot on the shelf. It felt sturdy but it groaned under his weight as he lowered himself onto it, stance wide to better distribute the stress. His heart pounded in his ears.

He stared about the massive room, expecting to hear rushing footsteps coming to investigate the noise. For a tense moment he waited. Rows upon rows of selves and crates blocked line of sight to anyone who might be headed his way. A number of lamps hung precariously from the edges of the shelves to light the space.

His ears twitched, desperate to hear something. Anything.

A sniff.

Quiet. Faint. Distant, from somewhere to his left. Again, another sniff followed by a subdued caw. It was a sound he'd heard so many times before; Poet's frustrated tears.

Brunswick heaved in a long breath and tried to force his heart to still. He climbed down the shelves, scanning them as he went for another weapon. He had his dagger on him, but in these tight spaces he'd need reach if anyone came at him with something bigger than his blade.

He dropped the last step to the floor, his padded feet made no sound against the wooden boards. He tiptoed down the row of shelves he was in, constantly peering between the gaps for any sign of guards.

Scoot said there usually wasn't anyone besides the warden stationed inside during the day, and he'd make it his duty to do the hourly round. The warden was of concern though. They had an office near the back of the warehouse where they did most of the clerical work of a quartermaster, just with the added task of overseeing the new recruits or any other prisoner the Marauders had taken.

Brunswick hesitated over every step. He hadn't expected to put his neck on the line for Poet, but a plan came together too quickly. He'd been swept up in the excitement and there was something heartening about Scoot's earnest desire to see Poet freed. The cat slunk down the rows of shelves towards the sobs.

Poet sat amongst a half circle of crates he'd been rummaging through for something. The bird lay in a heap, curled about himself. A manacle clung to one of his ankles and was attached to a lengthy chain hanging from a metal loop on the wall. Brunswick knelt and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Poet recoiled with a squawk and scrambled back. He stared, wild-eyed and desperate until recognition dawned on his face. "Wickie?" he gasped. He shuddered as another wave of tears filled his eyes.

Brunswick raised a finger to his lips. "I'll get you out of here," he whispered.

But Poet was overcome. He lunged forward to wrap his arms around the cat. His chain rattled and scraped across the floorboards as he produced a delicate wail. His talons dug into Brunswick's coat like he didn't want to let go.

The cat nudged him back. "I'll go find a way to break the chain. Scoot's waiting outside. He's our cover, alright? We ditch him at the first sign of trouble."

"Scoot?" Poet stared at him, aghast. "That nasty-"

"He wants you out of here more than I do." Brunswick snickered.

The bird froze. "Really?"

"Be back in a moment." Brunswick nodded. He crept away, eyes scanning the shelves for anything that might help. His ears twitched. The front door to the storehouse squealed open. He dashed away to hide amongst some distant shelves.

*****

Clement stared into Scoot's eyes, cautious for any tell of a lie. But the fox held his gaze unwavering, the only hesitation in his words was the quiet with which he spoke so no other Marauder could hear him. "The moment Brunswick gives me the signal, we're running back to your ship with Poet." He exhaled. "Tired of this life, I'll take anything over this."

The rabbit frowned. "I can't guarantee you a place on the ship but-"

"Brunswick already did."

"Right." Clement's eyebrows raised in amusement. That wouldn't go down well. The sound of footsteps echoed out of the storehouse. Scoot stiffened to attention. The warden emerged with the first guard in tow. He was a sour looking man built like a barrel.

Clement cleared his throat to start talking. "I'm-"

"We're tracking a thief who's currently in there scampering about." Barley spoke loudly over him. Clement flinched. He wasn't entirely surprised the boar had gone off script, he was only in it for his money. But it posed a problem that had to be handled carefully. Scoot's eyes looked about to bulge out of his skull. Words died on the rabbit's tongue as the warden scowled.

"Anything unusual happen?" the warden asked each guard, Scoot rushedly shook his head.

"The recruit's stopped crying." The other guard shrugged.

"That would be Poet." Barley frowned. "The thief wants something from him. Let us help you catch them, and maybe we can talk about exchanging prisoners."

"That won't be necessary." Clement glared at the boar's side. "I'm from The Burning Anne. Poet, the bird you pressganged is part of our crew. I will gladly negotiate for his freedom."

The warden stared at him, unimpressed. He cut his gaze to the other guard. "Do a quick sweep, tell me if there's anything unusual." The guard saluted and rushed inside. "I won't indulge diplomacy with pirates." The warden sounded unimpressed.

"No, I suppose that's wise." Clement clicked his tongue. A lengthy pause brewed between them as the warden waited for something more. "I'd hoped being affable would win you over but if I have to threaten then so be it."

The warden barked a laugh. "Your threats mean nothing in our city. Say more, and we'll have you in chains too."

Barley shifted, discomforted by the prospect. "That won't be necessary, I just want to help you catch the-" The door to the storehouse opened.

"Footprints in the dust along the southern wall sir."

The warden's gaze drifted to Barley with a frown. "Perhaps we have a deal to make then."

The boar nodded. Clement grimaced.

"Guard the door." The warden nodded to Scoot before he disappeared inside with the other guard.

The fox snarled. "Fuck."

Barley took a step forward.

"Get back. You've already..." Barley muscled past him with much bemusement and entered. The fox looked panicked and uncertain. "What do we do?" He looked to Clement for guidance.

The rabbit sighed. "Hope it gets messy in there so we can sneak out with Poet and run."

"And Brunswick?"

"He'll be fine." Clement rolled his shoulders, ready for trouble. "Probably."

*****

Brunswick lay curled in a ball under a set of shelves with some crates blocking the floor gap. He listened as footsteps came and went, there was far too much activity in the enclosed space to risk moving about. "What's going on?" Poet cried out from the other side of the building. Nobody answered, but two voices murmured on the edge of the cat's hearing.

"...split up...start south..."

Brunswick winced. He'd been had. Either Scoot crossed him, or something else had gone wrong. He crawled out from his hideyhole, keeping low to the ground as he peered under the rows of shelves. He saw their boots as they split up. One moved towards where Poet was chained, the other in his direction.

He drew in a deep breath. The window he'd entered from was on the south side. Best bet was to hang back on the furthest edge and circle back to the front based on their movements. If the other guard was in here, then it just should've been Scoot guarding the front door. He could escape there. But the door opened and closed. A third person. Not good.

He rose to the balls of his feet and tiptoed to the far edge of the storehouse. He kept his gaze focused on the slight movements he could see through the rows of shelves. Something thunked against his foot. He froze in place, gritting his teeth through the pain. One of the shelves had been placed at a slight angle and he'd caught its leg midstride. An object rolled to his left. A handful of nails scattered from the impact. Bad luck.

The nails rained on the floor board, the tinkling sound felt far louder than it should've. Shit. Brunswick scampered as fast as he could for the back of the warehouse. Footsteps bore down on his position. He'd been sprung. He turned into a neighbouring row, unsure what to do if the other Marauder was inbound. His panicked mind pieced together what he hoped was the best approach.

He started zigzagging back towards the front of the warehouse. If they took the most direct path to where the nails fell, he'd slip through the middle of them and make it out. He picked his footfalls carefully, ensuring he was silent though still speedy. He turned into the wider central row that bisected the storehouse. Not a sight of either Marauder. He smiled. Home free, he stepped into the row.

"You!" A gruff voice thundered through the storehouse.

The familiarity made Brunswick flinch as he spun. Barley stared at him, anger on his face. The cat blinked. He shouldn't be here. Behind him, Clement and Scoot stood side by side with worry bright in their eyes. Barley charged, his footfalls crashed with enough fury to shake crates. Brunswick guffawed for a brief moment, so surprised to see the boar. He bolted down the closest passageway between the shelves, but Barley was gaining on him.

He scrambled up the shelves to his left, too frantic to watch where he placed his hands and feet. He hissed as something sharp prickled his foot. Bad luck, he winced. Keep going.

Barley growled up at him. "Give me my money!" Tools and metal bearings clattered from on high as he scampered to the side. The boar rattled the entire shelf, trying to shake him down. He clung on for dear life, desperately scanning the rest of the warehouse for the two Marauders. They both ran from opposite sides, bearing down on him. He was surrounded on the ground with only one way out.

He heaved as he hoisted himself up to the top shelf. His claws gripped the wood as he swayed in time with Barley's rattling. He had to be delicate here. The nearest shelf was close enough to jump to, but too much force and he'd knock it over.

He braced against the plank of wood and leant into the forward momentum as Barley shook the shelves. He stumbled as he tried to jump high, his ears brushed the rafters. His trajectory was off course. He caught himself on the edge of the neighbouring shelf, the force of his leap spun him painfully against the side of it. His claws gouged the wood as he slid down, scrambling for purchase. His foot found something. He kicked at it desperately. It was hot. Burning hot. He hissed and yelped as his paw pads seared against the burning glass of a lantern. It jolted in the hook it was held up by, and bounced loose.

It fell against the floor and burst in a ball of flame. The oil within splashed across the floorboard and nearby shelves, which caught with a delicate woosh. Bad luck. Brunswick kicked off of the shelf and landed hard on his hands and knees on the far side of the flames. By the time he'd spun, the fire licked hungrily at the dry wood. His mouth hung agape as Barley flinched. The wall of fire dividing them surged at all the kindling. It roared to life. Brunswick turned and ran.

The Marauders were shouting, panic rose throughout the warehouse. The fire was enough of an issue he'd shaken them from his trail. He laughed, giddy as he sprinted to the southern side of the building and vaulted up the shelves. He slunk through the window and dropped to the ground. He landed elegantly on his feet.

Stress fell from his shoulders. He was safe. He slunk to the edge of the wall, peeking out to keep an eye on the front door. Either more Marauders would rush in at the first sign of smoke and he'd scamper off to mourn his friends, or Clement and Poet would make it out and they'd run off together. And Scoot too, maybe.

*****

"You!" Barley shouted as he took off. Clement grimaced as he spotted Brunswick darting into the dense mess of shelves. But Scoot grabbed his wrist.

"This way." The fox tugged him towards the outside edge of the storehouse and led him towards a back corner. Clement's heart rose in his throat. Poet sat with his knees tucked to his chest and eyes as wide as saucers. He looked distraught as he stared, the feathers of his face noticeably wet and dishevelled from sobbing. The rabbit made a tight sound as he saw the chains that bound the bird's ankle. The manacle was tight enough to look painful.

"Clem..." Poet whimpered, though his gaze fell on the fox. Admiration warred with hesitation in his stare.

"Do you have the key?" Clement turned to Scoot.

"One moment." The fox dashed down another row, headed for the back of the storehouse.

"Is Wickie okay?" Poet asked. The sounds of chaos reverberated from the centre of the warehouse. Through scuffling and shouting something thudded over and over causing a cascade of metal to fall with each thud.

"He'll be fine." Clement offered a weak smile. Something shattered. The rabbit spun to peer into the rows of shelves, unable to see anything. An all too familiar wooshing made his ears twitch. His eyes drifted towards the ceiling. It only took a moment for the smoke to claw at the rafters.

The shouting doubled in fervour. Orders bounced around the walls. Scoot rushed back, eyes wide but with a loop of keys in his hand. He skidded across the floorboards as he threw himself at Poet and slammed key after key against the lock of the manacle until finally one entered and turned.

The air was growing hazy and warm as smoke billowed out of the centre of the warehouse. "Do you need me to carry you?" Scoot's voice was soft as he helped Poet to his feet. The bird kicked out of the chains and ran without a word. Scoot and Clement raced after.

"Fire! Fire!" One of the Marauder's voices boomed throughout the warehouse. Barley's heavy footfalls slammed towards the front door. He threw it open and sprinted outside. Poet cawed and froze as the fresh air embraced him. Clement and Scoot nearly slammed into the back of him, so frantic to escape.

Out in the square, Barley had a foot on Brunswick's tail. The cat tried to scramble back as he advanced. Poet squawked a warning and Clement cursed under his breath. They didn't have time for this. They needed to run and fast.

"Fire! Fire!"

Heads turned towards the storehouse. In under a minute this place would be swarming with Marauders. Scoot shoved past Poet and lunged at the boar. The fox tried to tackle him from the waist, but Barley was built like a brickhouse. He hardly budged, but it brought an opening for Brunswick to kick at the boar's shin. Claws lacerated Barley's leathery flesh, he hissed and jerked back. Brunswick rolled to his feet.

"I just want my fucking money." Barley slammed a meaty hand on Scoot's shoulders and sent him sprawling to the flagstones. The cat took one glance at the fox, then to Barley and bolted. A frustrated roar echoed out of Barley as he sprinted after. Clement slammed the door to the storehouse shut behind him to buy some time.

"We gotta go. Straight to the docks." He nudged Poet on and stooped to help Scoot to his feet. Behind him, the door to the storehouse crashed opened.

"After them!" The warden's voice trembled with fury. A dozen Marauders had rushed out of the neighbouring headquarters. Even more were in the square. Clement gulped, a sinking feeling in his chest. He burst into a mad dash, bearing down on Barley and Brunswick as he followed them south towards the docks.

Poet snatched two apples from a nearby stall as he whipped past and threw them at Barley. One missed entirely, the other bounced harmlessly off of his shoulder. "Leave Wickie alone!" the bird shouted.

Scoot had his blade drawn and threw himself full pelt after Barley, but the boar was shockingly fast. Behind them, countless Marauders surged from nearby streets as the warden wailed for their capture. Their footsteps echoed through the narrow streets and rumbled in Clement's ears like a thundering herd.

His heart pounded hard in his chest, adrenaline surged through him. With so many it seemed inevitable that some might catch up. He had to do something. He raced down the winding street, the rush threw his ears back against his skull. His gaze bounced between every bystander. Every stall. Every carriage and wagon. Barrels, something, anything he could use to slow them down.

A vendor on the side of the street was selling pan bread from a charcoal flame. Clement grimaced to himself. It was a favourite of his. He prayed that Bellor would hold mercy for this shame and lunged behind the stall, sending the vendor tumbling to the stones. He squeaked as he shoved the vat of hot coals. It fell with a crash and sent burning charcoal tumbling about the street.

He shook his paws out, the heat of it burned him. He stole a glance up the street as he took off again. There must've been almost thirty Marauders in tow, and behind them a rising plume of smoke stained the sky. One was close enough that they had no time to avoid the coals. They screamed as they stepped on a glowing red chunk and tumbled face first into more.

The rabbit grimaced and sprinted on, desperate for more obstacles.

*****

Brunswick's heart was in his throat. His feet pounded against the flagstones. Sweat drenched him. He was certain he was about to be sick again. The exertion was too much. His tail ached. His belly wobbled. But Barley gave him no quarter. The boar was gaining on him as he flagged.

"You fucker!" Barley roared. His fingers brushed the cat's tail. Brunswick whimpered under his ragged breath. The docks couldn't be that much further. He'd been running downhill towards them the entire time. He could see the masts of ships poking out over the buildings.

With no chance of getting lost this close to the docks he skidded around a corner as he ducked down a side street. Trash made for obstacles better suited to the lithe feline. He leapt over a broken crate without so much a pause. Wood crunched. Splinters flew past Brunswick. Barley had crushed the rotting wood underfoot. It caught him so off guard he barely lifted his leg enough to clear a beam, but it threw him off balance. He staggered and tried to lunge forward with momentum but the boar caught him. Barley's entire weight fell on Brunswick.

The cat yowled. Thick fingers found his neck. "Give me my fucking money." The boar's grip tightened. Brunswick's eyes went wide. He gurgled as he tried to breathe. Nothing. No air passed his lips.

He scrambled, claws digging into the boar's arms. Panic rose within him. The sensation of choking threw him back years. The feeling of claws at the back of his neck. He shuddered. He kicked. He tried to scream. Barley only squeezed him tighter. Far stronger, far more aggrieved than the phantom touch that haunted his dreams.

His father had held him like this, once. Brunswick's paw collapsed to the dirt. His vision started to darken. He floundered for something. For anything. A stone, some trash, a broken bottle to save him as one had years before. But there was nothing.

He braced for something. He didn't know what. Physical sensations felt like they ended at his throat, where the crushing pressure devoured his hopes. He stared, meek and fretful at the bulging veins on Barley's forehead. Last night he'd tasted the boar's passion, now he knew Barley's rage.

Dark spots gouged great gaps of nothingness into his sight. He strained so hard to breathe his jaw ached, and how increasingly amusing that felt to his addled mind the longer it had been since fresh air filled his lungs.

Seconds dragged out, the world felt slow and eerie as it vanished from view. He could scarcely see the boar's sharp eyes as he went limp.

The pressure abated.

One moment a constant, ceaseless thing that squeezed the life from his bones. The next, nothing. Gone. He heaved in a massive breath that made his chest scream. The weight on his body shifted. It fell to the side with a mighty thud.

He raised a shaky hand, expecting to see a bloodied bottle. Empty. His vision brightened as he wheezed another breath. Something burned in the centre of his gaze. Bright, silver fur glowed with the afternoon sun. Scoot held his blade reversed, the hilt of it raised to the place Barley's head had been only a moment before. The fox shot out a paw.

"I gotcha." He pulled the cat to his feet. Barley twitched and groaned on his side. He dragged himself up on a hand. Blood poured from a gash on his forehead. At the end of the alley, a handful of Marauders had peeled off from the main crowd to follow them.

Scoot dragged Brunswick by the arm. The cat could barely place his feet, his entire body felt drenched in cold sweat. He was dizzy with nausea. Thoughts ricocheted off of each other. He hadn't expected help. Hadn't needed it before. Not like this. He'd always solved his own problems. Fought his own fights.

Killed his own assailants. He blinked, trying to regain his senses. But Scoot never let him go as they rushed towards the other end of the alley. He felt himself watching as though he were separate from his body. The Marauders descended on Barley. They had him. Brunswick shook himself down. He focused on his breath. His life. The moment had passed. He pulled his wrist back and started running in true. Both of them burst out of the alleyway.

The Burning Anne in full view. Most of the Marauders rushed parallel to them in a throng that chased Clement and Poet. They barrelled down the side of the docks, barely keeping ahead of the crowd.

"Bring it in! Bring it in!" Clement shouted from behind them at the top of his lungs. Crewmen jumped to attention, shocked to see them racing for the dock. "Pack it up we gotta go!"

The crew rushed back across the gangplank, grabbing whatever essentials from the dock they deemed necessary. The ship was still restocking, and it was a shame to leave anything behind but time was a luxury they couldn't afford.

"Drop the sails!" Clement bellowed.

The captain emerged from the cabin and glared down at the chaos. "Drop the sails!"

Brunswick limped across the gangplank and collapsed against the rail, heaving heavy breaths. Scoot slumped beside him with a laugh and slapped his back.

"Good wo-"

The captain stood over him. "Who are you?"

"Scoot." The fox extended a paw. The captain did not shake it. "I helped rescue Poet. Brunswick offered me asylum."

Poet slung an arm around Scoot's shoulders, which brought a smile to the fox's face. "He's my hero." The bird chirped.

Clement doubled over, hands on knees as he panted. "Sir. Couldn't have-" he paused to suck in a breath. "Couldn't have saved Poet without him. I'll vouch for his integrity and find a place to put him to use."

"Very well." The captain's eyes narrowed. "Raise the gangplank, we're casting off."

Behind them, the Marauders hesitated on the edge of the water. Crossing a gangplank was a surefire way to march one by one to your death. The moment the bridge to the ship had been removed, the crew eased. Crisis averted.

The four of them watched the docks, where dozens of Marauders stared back up at them with no way to follow. A few looked about to jump, but that would be suicide. A winch sounded out as the crew raised the anchor. The unfurling of canvas filled the air as the sails dropped. The ship nudged forward ever so slightly as wind caught her sails.

Tehati trotted out of the cabin, looking nonplussed. "Afternoon." He sounded not at all surprised to see the four of them panting while an army of Marauders milled about the docks, shouting obscenities. He did raise an eyebrow at the billowing tower of smoke rising from the western side of town, however. He came to join them by the railing.

The warden shoved his way to the edge of the docks, another Marauder dragged Barley and shoved him to the ground. "Run cowards! We're putting your friend to good use!" He shouted from the docks as wind filled The Burning Anne's sails.

Clement grit his teeth, his eyes held steady on Barley. The once strong boar knelt, his face turned skywards with tears streaming down his cheeks. They had a knife to his throat, and while they wouldn't hesitate to slit it they'd taken him as a replacement for Poet.

The rabbit sighed. "Feel a bit bad about that one, honestly."

"Happens." Brunswick sucked in a pained breath, a paw raised to his throat. "Better him than Poet," he croaked.

"Wh- Brunswick! It's your fault he got tangled up in all this." Clement glared.

"Yep, but no use crying over-"

"You just..." He pinched the corners of his eyes as he let loose an exasperated sigh. "I don't expect you to feel guil- well, anything really. But at least try not to royally fuck up the trajectory of anyone's life who you happen to bump in to."

"If that were the case you too would be in shambles and I'd be better for it." The cat furrowed his brow.

"Barley did also try to kill him, uh." Scoot added. "Worth mentioning."

"Boys, boys." Poet stretched his voice, clearly in a good mood. "Stop the bickering, I-"

"Fire's spreading." Tehati spoke nonchalantly over him.

"Oops." Brunswick snickered.

Clement nervously tapped his fingers against the rail. "Think they'll come for us?"

"Eh. It's a few thugs."

"It's the Blackthorn Marauders."

The lizard sighed. "I'll speak to the captain, but we'll change our sails next port of call. She's in need of some detailing too."

They watched on as sparks caught on neighbouring buildings. Within moments a dozen rooftops were burning.

Brunswick shook his head and hid a chuckle. "For a city built of rotting wood you'd think they'd be more prepared."

"Just hope they're all okay." Poet sounded concerned.

"They kidnapped you." Clement looked at him, shocked.

"I meant the..." The bird clacked his beak in frustration. "Nevermind."

"He's trying to sound nice for that fox." Brunswick added and cut his eyes to Scoot. "That sexy, sleek, silver fox. Bet he's nice and soft, hmm?" He elbowed Poet in the ribs. "A real gentleman of a Marauder." Scoot bit his lip, unsure if he was being praised or insulted.

"He's not like the rest."

"I'll bet. He smells worse." Brunswick smirked, though he met the fox's gaze with good humour.

"Dick." Scoot scowled back through a relieved smile.

Poet clacked his beak. "Shut it. He-"

"Ah. Their headquarters are burning." Clement piped in and pointed to the central building in the western district.

"-knew what..." Poet trailed off, his eyes wide as he watched the conflagration. "Fuuucking hell," he muttered.

The roof splintered as a cloud of flame boomed out under a plume of filthy black smoke. Scoot lunged towards the railing and gripped it tight, his eyes wide and mouth agape. The sound whipped past their ears a moment later.

"Oh Bellor save them..." Clement sucked in a ragged breath.

"Huh, gunpowder stash." A hint of bemusement crept into Tehati's voice. The others were too stunned to comment. Another muted boom followed the first, more dark smoke rose into the air. Dozens of figures on the streets raced about, ferrying buckets of water and whatever else they could to stymie the spread.

They stared on at the commotion as they drifted out with the tide. Even once the streets were too small to see, the glow of fire and the great clouds of smoke were painted across the sky. It was rare for them to keep each other's company for so long without squabbling.

Poet sighed as Briarton faded from view. "Thank you for saving me." He glanced at Clement and Brunswick. "It was... alarming, to say the least. I figured you'd be happy to see me go. I know I can be..." he searched for the word. "Dramatic." The admittance came with an uncharacteristic clack of his beak, like he didn't want to acknowledge it.

Clement shrugged. "I'd say you'd do the same but..." He gestured to the smoke in the sky. "You'd have brought the whole town to ashes."

Brunswick smirked. "You're lucky I heard about your escapades at that tavern." He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders. "Else you'd be sorting crates still. So. I think it's your drama that keeps us together." He lifted a sleeve to show the pinprick wound where Poet had pecked him yesterday. "Even if it pains me to admit it."

The bird cringed at the sight of blood. "Wickie." He shook his head. "I'm so sorry my dear, I- I know those cards get me heated. Can I make it up to you?" He dropped an arm to the cat's shoulders and tugged him into a hug. Scoot squinted at the cat with unexpected ire.

Brunswick shot him a feisty grin over Poet's shoulder but drew a steady breath in the embrace before pulling back. "That won't be necessary." He stared at his hand, a subtle grin on his face as the fine silver chain of Poet's pocket watch dangled from his grasp.

The bird rolled his eyes. "Keep it if it suits you but that's worth far more than it'll pawn for."

"A memento." Brunswick looped it over the hilt of his blade which was laden with colourful charms from dozens of different ports. "Since I had no time to get one in Briarton."

Poet nodded, then turned to Scoot and sighed. "You were wise to hold me in your bed. I wish I'd stayed, I was..."

The fox interjected as he searched for words. "No need. Just glad you're safe." He maintained eye contact and offered a genuine smile. As Poet dipped his chin, Scoot stepped forward to boldly sling an arm across the bird's shoulders and place a delicate peck on his beak with a tenderness best saved for the bedroom.

Clement rolled his eyes and kept a handful of sterner words tucked under his tongue.

Tehati cleared his throat. "I suppose it's only fair to admit I'm glad you didn't run off." He offered the bird a firm nod. "The others weren't so convinced you would because you left your viola, but I know what unusual behaviour one's violent change of heart can cause."

"Violent?" Poet gave him a heavy look, bewilderment brooked by anger laced the word.

"Dramatic, perhaps." The lizard hid a gentle smile. "If it'd interest you, I have a cask of fine port and a hole in my heart that can only be filled by the graceful crooning you produce."

Poet puffed out his chest. "I would be delighted to indulge you on this offer Hatty."

"It extends to the rest of you as well." Tehati nodded to the others.

"Happy to." Scoot nodded eagerly.

"I've still got a hangover to sleep off." The cat rose a fist to his forehead.

"Ah, I think I'll pass as well." Clement bit his lip, unable to produce an excuse.

"Well then." Tehati tilted his head. "The offer is less of an offer and more of an order. If I must endure the whining of his strings, I expect to do so with friends and good wine."

Both of them looked stunned.

"Hold on." Poet rounded on him. "What did you mean by that?"

"I wish to enjoy the company of my friends."

"No, the, the, you said that whine thing."

"It's good port."

"Before that. You said-"

"Well if you insist." Brunswick interjected.

"-you'd have to endure-"

"You've convinced me." Clement dipped his head.

"-my music. I heavily take offence-"

"Then it's settled. We'll meet in the cabin by sunset." Tehati turned to walk off.

"-to the insinuation that..." Poet fell quiet as the other two paced away, hiding chuckles under their breath. The bird stomped his foot and made an exasperated sound. "You fuckers are so lucky I've nowhere else to go." He humphed and turned up his beak.

Scoot snorted. "Well, I'm eager to hear you perform."

"That's why we're keeping you, dear." Poet's eyes glittered, he tugged the fox by a hand towards his quarters. When they met at sunset, they were merry and well for despite their differences, the solace of their friendship bound them tighter than steel.