Blackheart

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She leaned out over the edge of the ship and drank in the salt air as the breeze tousled her hair. Her jet black mane flowed and ebbed with the air currents and stray tendrils of her hair whipped at her face. She took in a deep breath. It had been a long day.

The Bedeviled was at anchor now. She and her officers had seen to the securing of the ship for the night. Now the duty watch was doing what duty watches do and the rest of the crew was cleaning up and making minor repairs.

But it was time for her to relax. The prize ship that they had captured earlier in the day should arrive in the small cove where they were anchored within the hour but, until then, she had nothing that required her immediate attention.

Robin stripped off her blood-soaked clothing and dropped it to the deck. She laid her sword and dagger and pistol on top of the pile. And then she grabbed the rigging and pulled herself onto the railing. She crouched and then extended, propelling her sleek body into an arc as she dove into the sea below.

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