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4.

The groan and crack of timber jolted me out of the hammock with an indignant thump to the wood cargo decking. A loose keg of water rumbled and crashed into me before I could stand slamming me up against the moaning hull of the galleon. I could hear the heavy slaps of waves on the other side of the hull. Pinned into place by the water barrel, my senses swam as the whole cargo hold was in sway to the mad beat of a storm. With a stiff mewl I slid the water keg off of my belly and found my footing precarious on slick wet wood. I gave a quick glance to see if the pilgrims were safe, but they were gone; hammocks rocking empty and steady to the storms beat. The view of a cannon butting through the top deck answered my thoughts on why the decking was wet; the iron frame of the cannon gave life to a miniature waterfall from the rain and waves that ran greedily over the deck wrapping it in maritime slime.

After a waltz or two with more storm churned cargo I reached the rickety wood stairs to the topside hatch that was rattling against its hinges from the howling winds. I could stay within the cargo hold, perched on these stairs, safe from debris set on puncturing my Felissii hide. However I was worried about the pilgrims and where they had gone. I worked the hatch and it ripped free of my hands as gale force winds slammed it into the wood deck. Ice cold rain soaked into my cloak in an instant giving me a distinct longing to change my mind. I gripped the hatchway tight and fought against the wind. My eyes stung as I viewed the main deck; Felissii sailors scrambled in a mad flurry of soaked fur, clinging canvas and flailing ropes as the storm gleefully ravaged the rigging. I retreated bellow to the cargo hold once more and considered my options.

All of them pointed to grabbing what few possessions I had and striking out to find the pilgrims on the storm scoured top deck. A small hiss escaped my lips recalling what the salt water would to the armor tucked away in my oiled satchels. I made haste to retrieve my armor and weapons. My feet slipped as I skated for the beam where my hammock was tethered and swaying madly to the storm. The satchels beneath it were still in the crate lashed in place and gave me a sliver of relief that my armor and blade had not taken a cold salt water dip. My tail swished sluggishly, the tiger striped fur drenched and going numb from the cold wind pouring in. The world lurched from another wave slamming into the galleon. I tumbled into in the hammock now turned into a strangling net. A quick, savage mauling from my clawed hands set me free from the strangling embrace and deposited me unceremoniously back on the deck again. I'd had enough of this topsy-turvy world as lethal claws slid out of my paws and bit into the deck giving me purchase to walk. I fished out the oiled leather satchels from the crate and slung the shoulder straps in crisscrossed fashion over my shoulders. I'd be a damned fool to stay down in the cargo hold as supplies smashed around in this storm.

I mounted the rickety steps to the storm above and my paws refused to move further. "Well I've played in the rain and fought bandits in downpours. I've had gambles worse than this. What could possibly go wrong?" My words grew faint as my courage rusted from the attempt to steel it.

My jaw ached as I grit my teeth and willed myself to action. Keep moving, the path ahead holds nightmarish freedom but the path behind is assured death. With that set firmly in my mind, I thrust myself up the steps, out the hath promptly slid three feet along the deck as a wave set it to be a sloping wall. My claws were bared once more halting my slide. I looked to the aft of the galleon and closed my eyes. It was a path of rolling waves, dancing masts and screaming sailors. I starting my ascent along the main deck as I worked to the aft of the ship, the deck nearly a wall as the waves rolled us steadily in the troughs. Each foot of deck I moved across, the wind tried to rip me away; my oiled satchels had fantasies of becoming poor makeshift sails flailing behind me. Foam and frothing water rushed over the rails of the galleon as I reached the steps leading up to the wheelhouse. A scream was heard as a Felissii sailor was swept into the inky black ocean. I kept my amber eyes locked upon the massive oak wheel that seemed to strain in the gaunt hands of Captain Tilson. A firm line was set upon that Leopard jaw making a striking ridge of determination upon the old Felissii's snowy as lightning struck a yard arm in searing blue white light. The strike's brilliance was burned into my vision as a vivid black gash set out against the grainy rain filled night.

I threw my voice hard into the wind as I tried shouting to him. "Captain Tilson! Why are we in a storm? Have you seen the pilgrims?"

"Trisha! The rest of the passengers are in my cabin! Get to it! The fool storm is trying to take us all to the depths!" Captain Tilson roared back to me.

"Reef!" A voice roared out, nearly lost, from the crow's nest.

Captain Tilson started spinning the wheel like a madman. The sound of something sharp scraping against the hull made my ears flatten as I struggled up the stairs to him. He gave me a fearful look.

"I'm sorry Trisha!" Captain Tilson roared.

A bone jarring shudder wrenched through the ship as timber and planks cracked with a chorus of splintering pops. I was hurled from the steps of the wheelhouse and slid across the splintered deck, the screams of Felissii sailors being flung in all directions a minor note to the symphony of chaos. My back smashed into a section of railing, a painful respite as lightning illuminated jagged fingers of rock over my shoulder bathed in foam. The galleon had run aground of the reef and the sound of more splintering was heard as the storm beat at the impaled ship without mercy.

I gave several sputtering coughs; my mouth tinged with the briny taste of the ocean and tried to glimpse Captain Tilson. He was gone, two spokes on the pilot wheel missing like rotten teeth in a lazy kittens mouth. Fear struck down to my bones seeing the captain gone, my mind crying out to be back on the cliffs of Madesto and my homeland of Chanteer. The time for home was now long gone; I had chosen my fate to buy passage out of the country, to flee my death. Now it seemed death had simply bided its time until I was at its mercy upon the roiling angry ocean.

I gave a silent fair well to Captain Tilson's last resting place then picked myself up. My scrabbling paws were aching with cold that joined the personal camp of misery as I stumbled through the buckled decks. Cries in the choking darkness could be heard as I neared the ruined forest of masts. The aft mast had snapped and crashed against the captain's cabin, the door caved in, windows smashed and a sea of tangled rigging. I didn't see any movement inside against the lightning beating at the darkness. A hand latched onto my shin and I screamed, that grip the only thing keeping me from jumping into the winds. A gurgled plea for help met my ears, the sailor attached to that trembling grasp was skewered among snapped beams and twisted iron hoists. I knelt and braced myself into the howling wind as waves surged with more passion over the deck. I stared into his panicked brown eyes and began prying the sailors hand from my leg. I could sense he was not long for this world and I stumbled through the last rite of Cala Mormor and touched his head. Salt and coppery blood tang mixed into rain around me. He gave a weak gurgle as he fought for his last breath and his head slid from my slick hands as his existence ended. I left the dead sailor to his life now in the surging waves tried to find a passage to the captain's cabin.

Fate, it would seem, had other plans for me than rescuing the pilgrims. Lightning coursed through the howling night sky snapping at the iron rigging upon the galleon. I felt hot fingers lance into my side before the electrical discharge slammed into me like a massive boot. I tumbled through the banshees of the storm and felt my world grow colder as my mind registered a distant splash of a body hitting water. A hard rocking lullaby lulled me into belligerent darkness until I felt the ship's hull as the waves rolled me against it like a rag doll. I tried to swim in desperation but my satchels drew me down. The black water gave me no sign of up or down. My lungs ached for air as my limbs turned to lead in the cold waters. My life started to flicker before my water masked eyes and I thought I saw the faint, ghostly face of my father looking upon me with sadness. At least my family would no longer remain in slavery if the bloodline ended with me.

Something heavy rocketed down into the inky water beside me. I reached out to it and found my grip latching hold of a barrel. Its descent faltered then took me up with it as it broke the surface of the water and began to bob in the storm. My lungs demanded air and coughed violently as it was appeased with liberal doses of salt water and air. My claws bit hard into the barrel as I rode along the rolling dark hills of the storm. Time slid by me like a stranger. How long had I been steeped in the cold water and when would I finally join the Felissii sailors in a watery grave bellow? My thoughts were smothered in the cold grip of water and fatigue as nothing mattered anymore as sleep dragged me into its hard grasp.

~ ~ ~

A prodding pain ended the thoughtless, sleeping void I'd been thrown into. I had no idea how much time had passed while I was a slave to that state unconsciousness. I was thankful in feeling the warmth of Leo on my fur and a steady, unmoving earth beneath me. The prods and flairs of pain on my body shredded that thankfulness. I opened my eyes just barely and saw blue eyes staring right at me, contained within a canine face with ears large enough to catch the wind and soar like a bird. Leo shone like a basking beacon eclipsing the canines head and sinking the rest of the person in deep shadow. Perhaps my amber eyes snapping open in panic is what gave life to the startled yelp as the canine drew away, the flash of a stick in its hand flitting past my muzzle and gave me a fair idea of what had been poking me.

My ears canted as voices spoke behind my head, their words almost musical with a flow of vowels and no clue what they meant. I've washed ashore somewhere that is not native to Chanteer, my mind puzzled fuzzily. I knew most of the dialects spoken by Felissii and the minorities sharing our lands, the flowing musical language was not among that verbal library. I tried to crane my neck and let out a pathetic mewl as hot jagged pain made fingers of lightning dance before my eyes. The voices had stopped and the sound of feet upon gravel surrounded me. More canine faces loomed into my view of the blue sky and the twin suns of Leo and Linus soaking into the lands. A pained study of those staring down at me gave me slight insight that the first canine face I saw must have been a child with pup like features not grown into the distinct full muzzle and head of a fennec fox. They were all dressed in leathery loin cloths, their furs a variety of sandy yellow, mute browns and creamy whites with a few reds thrown in as well. By my reasoning, they all appeared to be male.

One of the adults had a stick in his hand and proceeded to poke at my side, neck and chest. The male sang, howled and yipped something at me every time I was poked. I already had an ongoing court with my body and all the pains brought before me like accusations of abuse to common sense. The poking and gibberish being flung at me was the final gavel blow to that court of misery. I lifted my hand and I latched onto that stick with a grip frighteningly weak to my mind and hissed at the canine.

"For the love of Cala Mormor. Stop poking me you flea ridden mutt." I said with a voice parched and croaky.

The male jerked the stick out of my grasp and swatted my hand aside with a brutal swiftness. They withdrew from my periphery and I could hear the musical words flowing rapidly and with a heated passion to them. Perhaps they were debating how best to eat me or how to punish someone for touching that stick. For all I knew it could be some holy relic to them. Perhaps they wondered where I came from. The rising outcry of pain in my body made me slip into an easy detachment to care as the canine people talked. I simply soaked in the sunlight and thanked the True One I was still alive and out of the water. Don't get me wrong, I love swimming, but I absolutely detest being in storms with a new found respect. The canines had returned with their heads and large ears blocking my sun rays. I prepared myself for more poking and gibberish.

"You speak Humaran?" the male with the stick asked.

I was not prepared to hear the common trade tongue used by the canine but surprise melted to hope. "Yes. I speak Humaran. Stop poking me. I'm in a lot of pain."

The canine nodded his head and looked to the others switching back to musical speech. A wave of bobbing ears and slim, furred cheeks danced shadows over me. Some of the heads vanished and I felt hands grabbing at my legs, arms and ribs. I could feel I was being lifted up and more pain lanced through wringing out mewls and stifled roars of discomfort. More abuse was on its way with each jarring step they took before I was lightly dropped onto a bed of creaking wood and straw. The strong scent of horse droppings and a goat like whicker greeted me. I must have been placed on a cart that was being drawn by higos. The common speaking canine, fur of a red rust color, appeared near my head as the cart jolted and rocked slowly along gravel.

"You are hurt, stranger. Bits of metal stick from you. We cannot pull them here. You will bleed out and I cannot have that. We will take you to our healer. Lupis be praised that we were on a hunt for fish. Never seen a striped Luupihnohsii like you before. How did you get to this Humaran port?" He asked.

I had washed upon a Humaran port? A Humaran port with anthro slaves? No, wait, he said they were hunting fish. Where the hell did that storm blow the galleon too? Humara was thousands of leagues from Yester Wende, and I could not recall any teachings about canine anthros, only myths about them in forgotten lands.

"I wasn't planning to wash up here. The galleon hit a severe storm. Struck some rocky reefs. Lightning hit the deck. I went over board and blacked out. Where am I?" I asked.

The canine male made some jaw clicks, its teeth a mix of predator and herbivore when it talked. "You are not near Humara, striped one. You are in the lands forsaken by Humarans. The blessed lands of Canis and Lupis have taken you in from your disaster. This is Luupihnohs."

I had washed upon the Unknown Land? My heart raced a bit recalling what Captain Tilson said. Only monsters, myth and mystery had ever been plotted for the south eastern waters of Sliinkaa by cartographers. There had even been rumors among sailors of dragons in the area too.

"Are there monsters and dragons in this, blessed land as you call it?" I asked.

The male seemed to wuffle out a laugh that was full of mirth. "Perhaps. We Dehsii of the nomad tribes have not seen dragons. We see plenty of monsters. Though it depends on what you think a monster may be."

"Dehsii. Is that the name of your people here?" I said, my voice growing weaker.

"Dehsii is the name for my people that live in the sand and marketplaces. My brothers and sisters of this land are the Luupihnohsii. Speak less and rest. You are bleeding the more you stir. You will see our healer. Maybe we'll talk more. Maybe the nomads will just kill you. The cleric of Fohkseengaal will know what to do." He said with a firm belief.

I tried to raise my hand out to him. He put it back down to my belly with a serious look on his face and muzzle.

"I am Rohtheer. You are who?" He asked.

"Trisha." I croaked.

He gave a simple nod, though I could tell he seemed twitchy, his ears flicking and swiveling as if in deep thought. He didn't speak more and I was glad. I was feeling too weak to say any more and my thirst was a ravening monster. I did my best to rest well while my mind toyed with the chances of existing dependant on a cleric of a mystical art. To say that I enjoyed my silence while lying vulnerable on the cart was as peaceful as a pilmoo stomping through a china ware shop.