Snippet #828938

Bonny sat accross from the crewman she'd laid out on the deck. He'd drank the salty sea and was now slowly loosing his grip on life. She'd tried to induce vommiting, but that apparently wasn't working. He was too dehydrated to do anything further. And there was no life in this part of the ocean to take him away if they tossed him overboard. It wasn't a practice she'd commonly preformed on those under her command, but it was hot, and she didn't need any carcus stinking up the ship.

She stook and put her head above deck where the rest of the crew was waiting for an answer; would Collin live or die? "Well lads," she told them, in a tone as salty as the sea itself. "It doesn't look good. Ole' Collin will probably be dead before dawn. He's lost a lot of his own fluid because of the salt." She piped up a little louder, in sort of a repromand. "Let this be a lesson to the lot of ye! If you drink the sea, ye'll die."

"But Cap'in Red, We're almost out of rum an' water. What'll we do until then?" A man stood before her, tan and gleaming in the fading light. The whole crew was down to their pants, no socks or boots. All except Bonny, who tried with great strength to keep herself covered, but ended up relenting and removing her cloak.

"We'll just have to make due with what we've got left. Take a quart intsead of a pint, and we'll just roast the food rather than boiling it. That'll mean that someone'll have to be down in the galley to watch the fire-" There was a groan from the crew. "I know, believe me, I know lads. But we'll survive this. We've been through a hell of a lot worse. We'll get through the desert."

"We're not too far off..." The Navigator, Will Farate chirped in. "Only a few hundred miles away from port... I think." Looks like daggers turned toward him, suggesting he'd better stop thinking and start knowing.