Open Hearts of Oak

Mid-morning breeze blew fresh and stiff from the lively oceans to enact its mischief upon the harbour and ships at anchor there. Playfully tugging thick greased ropes astray and billowing unattended canvas in the paws of hapless new recruits, it looked to be a day of pleasant but lively weather: all the better for those hard workers sweating on the deck as they made good their vessel.

The BlackShip was abuzz with activity, her restored bulk teeming with beasts from the green to the seasoned preparing for her first voyage under the new Captain. Canvas was checked and strengthened; miles of rigging were organised accordingly; decks were scrubbed, brasses polished, and supplies loaded aboard with well-organised precision.

It was a bit rough and ready to her eye, this rabble, but sheer crew size necessitated decent organisation and things seemed to be running smoothly enough. Dunking paws into a barrel of saltwater to cleanse them of lacquer after freshening up the binnacle, Tanya squinted up at the impressive masts of the ship and heaved a nostalgic sigh.

Her relationship with the fabled BlackShip had been a long one marked by spartan crossings throughout the years. Poetic, really, that time and tide should bring them back together at some point in her older age after it had been the first Imperium vessel she had wangled her way aboard. Staring down the deck was a transportive experience, so familiar as it was all new. She was fifteen seasons old, seasick and scared, trying to learn how to adequately tie knots with soggy, blistered paws under the watchful eye of Captain Greenfire. She was in her twenties, a new and eager Captain called to a meeting of the fleet aboard the ship with the largest office, twins in tow. She was approaching thirty, Admiral of the fleet appraising the large ship as part of her inspections, regarding the vessel in an entirely new light.

A blink and the scruffy vixen roused herself back to the present. Today was not a day for idle paws, and chances were once the voyage was underway she’d be expected to lend a paw with keeping beasts in line. For now, at least, she could be somewhat more casual in her approach. Ever a practical sort, Tox set aside reminiscing and nudged a dark-furred marten as she dried paws on a rag seized from his paws. “How’re this lot looking by your eye, Oilfur?” The beast in question, seemingly a veteran of large ships as these, wrinkled his nose and took a moment to respond. “Hard t’say, marm: plenty of green sailors, though. Might well have our work cut out for us teachin’ this lot all at once.”

“Long’s there’s enough skilled crew to keep her steady we can forgive some fresh paws,” Tox replied. “It’ll be fun putting the lot through their paces: all good adventures start with a touch of trouble, after all.”

Years had passed since she’d felt like this, and there were few ships finer to embark on a new journey. Striding further onto the quarterdeck with a jaunty swagger more suited to a younger beast, the diminutive vixen took a deep breath, savoured the (relative) freshness of the air and called out. “Alright you lot, anybeast here new to the BlackShip come gather so’s you can introduce yourself and I can give you some basic orientation of the place!”
 
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