The Admiral wore his best clothes and had the boy Patrick polish his boots to a mirror-like state. Once he stepped off his ship, he began shaking hands with the local populace, a grin plastered over his face. But if one was deft enough to pay attention to the grin-less faces of his crew, perhaps they might've caught wind of the Admiral's true intentions.

Patrick walked at the back of the procession, getting stuck between a mix of soldiers and the sailors that ran the boat. "Look at him strut, one of them said. You can't even tell our people have been dying left and right."

"Oh, don't be so glum." the First Mate said grabbing Patrick by the shoulders and shaking him. "At least we got Patrick here out of the whole deal."

"Thanks," Patrick said, glad to have somebody in his corner.

"Yup." the First Mate continued, her smile turning sharp, if you give some scraps to his dog, he'll even let you kick him around, maybe throw in washing our clothes and shining our shoes." She then gave Patrick and shove, causing him to fall over. The rest of the group laughed.

One of the townspeople helped him up, "Careful there boy. Nearly cracked your head open."

"Thank you."

"No need for that. Where are you coming from anyway?" asked the man. "Hunting pirates? Your ship looks a bit worn for just patrolling."

"No, I..." Patrick struggled to find something to say that would not earn him a later beating from the Admiral or the crew. "Sorry, I have to go."

He saw Yoru, stumbling behind, downing a bottle of ale gotten from who knows where. Yoru was the new quartermaster since the old one lost his life when the beach fight happened. The losses were heavy, the Mastiff leaving while people were rushing to climb over it and be saved. Patrick remembered the faces of those left behind, getting shot or sliced apart by the mercenaries or the strange warlock with the umbrella.

The rest of the crew were not happy, seeing how easily their lives were forfeit and how little the Admiral cared to expand the effort in saving them. Thus, limping and without supplies, they chased the traitorous fishing boat, hoping it would lead them to a settlement. Once the boat was destroyed, all that was left was to find a safe haven and plan their retreat back into allied waters.

Patrick and Yoru walked slowly and as such, they lost track of the procession. Yoru eyes were glazed over and it wasn't long until he found a nice tree to pass out under. Although ordered to not let the boy out of his sight, he did not let that stop him.

Patrick sat next to the drunk man for a while, and eventually feeling embarrassed at the thought of any townspeople seeing him in this state, he dragged Yoru behind the tree where there was less chance of being seen. It was then when his stomach began to growl and the boy had to weigh the risks of being found missing by Yoru and the hurt that would follow.

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Patrick was saved when Yoru began to loudly began to choke on air and woke himself up. He looked around with suspicion, his eyes leaking and red with irritation. Seeing Patrick, he grunted, "Go rustle up some food for us boy. These fool people think we're heroes or some such crap should be no problem. And see if they have some mead." Yoru then turned on his side and resumed his nap.

Patrick looked around and decided to make his way back to the main street and ask there for directions. People were only happy to oblige, a few of them slapping him on the shoulder and pointing him towards the local tavern.

He reached it fast enough, a place with a certain run-down, fishing outpost charm, a certain hopelessness of which persisted in the very walls of the place. It was called Explorer's Folly, for it was the final camp of two Norv explorers who encountered a very unhappy bear. It was still whispered amongst the tables when the mead flowed heavy enough that the bear was sighted somewhere deep in the outlying forests. The truth of it is contested by some and called highfalutin foolishness by others that do not know the definition of the word. As narrator, I can attest that the centuries-old bear still lived and continued to do bear things in the forests. Primarily, eating fish, berries and then sleeping for an inordinate amount of time that some might even call lazy.

Patrick walked up the few overgrown stone steps and pushed open the heavy oak door that led to the tavern. The sailors, the soldiers, and a variety of different townsfolks were engaged in some good-natured rowdy drinking and feasting. The boy walked in, half-crouching and trying his best not to be seen. He went to the bar and met the bored stare of the owner. Triga looked at him as if his very presence was a ruination of her life, which was a skill unique to those in the service industry or any who dealt with large sums of money.

"Could I get something to drink and some food?" Patrick asked.

"You got any money?"

"Oh, I assumed it was all paid for," he replied.

"No such thing as a free meal and if you're going to call yourself a war hero hoping I'll serve you, I will throw you out, and don't you forget it. Now use some of that government money and pay me, if you still want feeding and drinking, that is." Triga said one eye on the boy and one on the loud military folk that had invaded her tavern. She kept a rifle under the bar for just these occasions, as the fishermen did tend to fall into their cups after a successful trip, but Triga doubted the uniforms would take kindly to a shot flying over their heads.

Patrick located a fallen-over sailor and quickly went through the man's pockets finding a few coins. He put those on the bar in front of Triga who shrugged and brought him a bottle and some skewered meats. Patrick collected them and made his way outside, where he set upon his share of the food and gulped down a few mouthfuls of the mead. Life on the Mastiff was not easy, and a smarter person would perhaps try to make a run for freedom, but Patrick had gotten attached to the injured dog. He knew that with him gone, the Admiral would throw the animal overboard out of a twisted sense of revenge.

Perhaps with only a skeleton crew on the ship and the rest getting drunk, he could free the dog, steal some money and pay a fisherman to take them at least somewhere in the direction of Livingston. Patrick felt that if he could reach May then at least nothing bad would happen to him. He missed the sense of security he had around the peacekeeper.

First thing first, Patrick would go to where Yoru was passed out and give him more alcohol to ensure that the man's sleep would be long and undisturbed. Patrick wanted to make sure he would not wake up and give the alarm.