Dark flakes fluttered out of the sky, some still ember red at the edges. The crackling roar of the massive blaze had only just begun to die down, now that most of the ship’s wood was alight and crumbling. Already, you could hardly make out the word “Bloodpool” painted on the starboard side. Her captain stood, his claws at his side, watching as his vessel was devoured by arson. Black, pitiless eyes reflected the flickering glow, the only light in an eerily blank face. Behind him, his crew was nearly silent; the band of stoats didn’t dare speak too loudly, lest they somehow draw attention to themselves. The ship was burning, and they had not been able to put her out. There was no saving the Bloodpool now.
One stoat, taller than the…
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