The storm had finally died down, and Henry de la Fontaine stood on the quarterdeck, legs spread wide, assessing the damage. His men were already hustling, repairing and clearing debris. It looked worse than it was. Some hull damage, a tear in the sail, nothing they needed to find port for. Henry turned around when his chief mate, Lawrence DeVille, popped up below on the lower middle deck. We found something, captain. A sloop with someone aboard. Henry smirked, curious. Bring them to me.
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