Bronte stood on the beach inside the little harbor they'd discovered. It'd be the perfect hideout. She stood silently as she pictured the scene.

The ship's contents would be piled at the tree line, removed so the empty ship could be careened. The men would haul the ship onto its side. Bronte pictured them cleaning barnacles off the hull and putting new pitch on, after repairing any damage to the ship's bottom.

The cove, littered with reefs and shoals, would have to be successfully navigated in order to reach the harbor. She drifted across the beach toward the bottom of a cliff face. Bronte smiled with anticipation as she stared up the cliff side. She'd carry only a small leather satchel, her dagger, and a single pistol. Her long cutlass she'd leave hidden in a cleft at the bottom, for it'd make the climb too difficult. She really didn't expect to have need of the weapons anyway. With a brief wave at Sam, who was near the tree line, she began to climb.

The climb proved to be a challenge and helped keep her mind off her worries, at least for the time being. She concentrated on each placement of her hands, finding a good hold and then pushing herself higher with her feet. When she was two-thirds up, one of her handholds gave way, sending a shower of small rocks tumbling to the ground. She held tight with the other hand and searched frantically for a second handhold. Finally finding one, she held tight and caught her breath. As she rested her face against the warm stone, a large white bird flew inches from her head, so close the wind from its wings tousled her hair and blew sand in her eyes. Carefully turning her face the other way, she waited for it to pass by, blinking the irritating specks from her eyes. The bird must've thought she looked very strange clinging to the cliff. She continued without mishap until she reached the top; there was a rustling noise directly above. She held her breath and concentrated on determining the cause of the noise. Perhaps the large bird had flown to the top and settled. The noise stopped and she waited a moment before slowing raising her eyes over the edge.

Hot stinking breath washed over her face as she came nose to nose with a large, long tusked boar. It grunted menacingly at her as she met its wicked gaze. With her body pressed against the cliff she couldn't reach her pistol, but she eased one hand slowly to her back and grabbed the hilt of the dagger tucked in her belt. If she could get one good swipe at its tender nose perhaps it'd back off enough for her to get over the edge and draw her pistol. She'd only have one chance to kill the beast and she silently cursed herself for not bringing along another pistol. She quickly swiped her dagger across the creature's flaring nostrils, creating the desired effect. It backed off, squealing angrily at the bite on its face, and she quickly climbed over the side and leveled her pistol. The animal retreated a few yards but instantly turned to face her and bore down full speed, blood-red eyes glaring. If she missed, his charge would force her right over the edge. Bronte took careful aim, not wanting to blow her only chance. It closed rapidly, hooves throwing up billows of dry soil. She squeezed the trigger.

Time slowed as the bullet traveled the short distance toward the boar and hit the beast directly between gleaming red eyes. The boar stumbled, falling to the ground, but momentum carried the downed beast still forward. Bronte realized she might end up being bowled off the cliff anyway and leapt over the boar at the last moment, tucking her shoulder and rolling on the gravelly surface. The beast halted in the very spot she'd vacated. Bronte coughed, sitting a moment as the dust settled, then scanned the surrounding area in case the beast hadn't been solitary.

Satisfied she was alone, Bronte drew a parchment and pencil from her satchel and settled near the edge of the cliff, facing the open sea. The height provided a perfect view of the reefs and she began sketching. As Bronte studied the shoals she observed a narrow, nearly indiscernible, passage through the reefs. She painstakingly copied every detail so they could maneuver through them when they checked the depth to be sure they wouldn't run aground. Bronte thought of the many hours she spent sketching from the crow's-nest of Capt. Bertrand's ship. She'd gone aloft to escape the men's crudeness often and enjoyed the solitude one could only find high above everyone else. Then she nursed a childish desire to be a cartographer. But, like most childhood dreams, it seemed too far-fetched to be a reality. For now, she was content with her lot.

Bronte surveyed the scene before her again. The Huntress was anchored outside the ring of cliffs forming the island. Beyond, the deep cobalt sea stretched out, beautifully empty.

She settled more comfortably against a large stone as she sketched. Earlier she and Sam had entered the cove in a boat and found the nicely-sized beach, gently rising to the steep rock cliffs growing so imposingly from the sea. The island was covered with thick vegetation and, as the boar proved, animals to hunt. By posting guards on the cliff they'd be able to see anyone who might think to approach them from any side.

As she sketched, her thoughts kept wandering back to the handsome blond captain who stirred those unfamiliar feelings in her breast. For the first time she wished she was free to show herself for who she really was. But, she snorted, what would that matter anyway? A man like him would never want a woman like her. Especially after she'd stolen his ship. She chuckled at that thought, remembering his face when she'd declined his employment offer. He mustn't be used to hearing the word no. Besides, it wasn't that she didn't want to sail on his ship, just not with him. She hoped the surprising guilt clawing at her wouldn't last. As she dismissed the captain from her mind another matter emerged: hiring a crew. As she pondered her options she became aware of the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

She pretended not to notice and continued making scratch marks on the paper. All her senses, however, were trained on the intruder. A slight breeze caressed her face, bringing the smell of salt. Gulls were calling nearby but she blocked them out, concentrating on hearing what was behind her. The breeze carried a familiar scent. She moved her hand casually toward her dagger with the pretense of shifting her position. As her fingers closed on the hilt she turned and, in an instant, she was on her feet staring down the surprised intruder. With her free hand she grabbed his arm, twisting it around his back while holding the dagger at his throat. The attacker released his sword and it clattered to the ground. He didn't so much as breathe.

Bronte smiled as she removed the dagger and released her victim, stepping back to give him some space.

Sam let out a relieved breath and smiled back. "I didn't make a sound," he questioned, "how'd you know I was there?"

Bronte chuckled and answered cockily, "Simple, I smelled you."

Sam drew his brows together and looked at her in disgust. "I do not smell. I'll have you know I bathe twice as often as the average man!"

"I don't see how twice as often as never helps," Bronte observed.

Sam rolled his eyes and nodded toward the dead boar. "I heard your shot and came to see if you were all right."

She looked at him askance. "What's this? And you're just now getting here?! Every drop of my blood would be coloring this sand and the gulls after my eyes if I'd been hurt!"

"Yes, well, it took me a while to find my way through the forest. I'm certainly not mad enough to climb up the way you came!" Sam said smartly as he swaggered over to inspect the animal. She watched as he drew out his knife to dress it. "Fresh meat! I can hardly wait. I'm starving!"

She was hungry as well. The provisions of dry ship's biscuits and salted meat lost any pallor they had after Black got hold of them. When Kinney hesitantly brought that first dish of watery, burnt stew, Bronte pitched it overboard. At the time she'd wondered how anyone could manage to burn stew at all. Now, however, burnt stew wasn't what was irritating her.

Bronte crossed her arms shaking her head at her friend. "What if there were no way through the woods? Would you have done with me, then?"

He looked up from the animal. "Naw. I'd a waited at the cliff bottom to see if you came down."

"Truly heartening," she replied with an edge.

"I'd've waited a long time!" Sam said with mock earnest.

She rolled her eyes as she put the last touches on her map while Sam finished his gruesome task of removing the offal from the beast.

"What's that you're drawing?" Sam asked.

"Outline of the reefs," Bronte answered. Then added, "This cove will be the perfect hideaway."

Sam stepped to the edge of the cliff, hands on his hips as he gazed down at the spacious cove. He followed the raised circle of reefs poking through the water and stopped at the small opening in them. His gaze jumped over the vast number of reefs resting beneath the waves in the interior of the barrier. "We can't sail through that! We'll ground!"

Holding up the map with a shake she said, "There's a path, somewhat of a maze really, but with this we can get in and anyone else who tries...."

Sam smiled and nodded his head in agreement. He clapped her on the back. "Brilliant! Now, let's get this boar to Black!" he said as he resumed his work with the animal.

Bronte grimaced. Maybe she'd try her hand at roasting it. She surely couldn't do a worse job. Finished with the map, she tucked it away in her satchel. "We'll leave the Huntress offshore and take the cockboat around to make soundings; if it's deep enough we'll bring her in. Those bluffs are high enough we won't be seen by any we don't want seeing us." Taking soundings was the practice of dropping a weighted line to the seafloor to be sure the depth was sufficient to allow a ship to pass. Bronte was confidant the shallow drafted Huntress would have no problem, but it'd be foolish to test fate.

Sam looked up from tying the boar's front and back feet together and stared out over the harbor, sighing loudly. "You know, you should've told me your mind had'ta be half-hinged to pirate with you. Can't we eat first? My belly's a grumbling for pork," he pleaded as he slipped a sturdy branch between the boar's legs.

Bronte grabbed one end of the pole and he the other. Together they lifted the beast. "Fine," she relented, "we can eat first. We'll roast up a bit and take some out to the boys."

Sam was looking much more cheerful and he whistled boisterously as they marched.

As they entered the thick canopy of trees, Bronte, who carried the rear end of the pole, noticed a subtle change fall over her friend. He ceased his whistling and sighed deeply. He looked like she thought she must when the mainsail unfurled and a surge of power pulled a ship over the water. She asked Sam, "You like being in the forest, don't you? Because of all the wood?" Sam had told her once he might like to have been an artificer and she thought he was mentally checking off what he could make with the different available materials.

Sam picked his head up and looked around slowly, as if trying to identify the most favorite portion of a favorite painting. "I love the trees, but what draws me back into the forest is the light."

Bronte glanced around the dimly lit wood. Nothing looked particularly special to her. "The light?"

"The way the light plays with the darkness. They don't mix in the forest, just exist side by side."

Bronte looked around again and this time could see what he meant. Shafts of glowing light pierced through the small openings in the thick canopy, shooting through the blackness like a river meeting the edge of the world and plummeting into the great beyond. Under the trees with more delicate, lace-like foliage the light gathered into throngs of tiny puddles piled together on the dark forest floor, looking like so many gold coins winking from the earth.

Bronte found herself caught in the same spell and they finished the journey without speaking. She couldn't help wondering why Sam's statement made her want to drop him off at the nearest port, before he delved too deeply into her world.