Samilcar awoke the next morning to find himself on open water. It was of lightest turquoise, patterned and shimmering with gold, and there was not a wave in sight. Samilcar sighed, savoring the aromas of the Skilly ‘n’ Duff that Salvarad was cooking. He yawned, stretched, and pulled on his boots. Then he joined Salvarad, saying, “That smells good. Never knew that you were such a good cook.” Salvarad winked at him, and answered, “Aye aye, Cap’n! I learned ‘ow t’ cook from me ole granny.” Samilcar chuckled. “Well ain’t that sweet!” Playfully they rolled around on the bottom of the ship, swiping at each other. Samilcar then pulled away, laughing. “Mercy, spare me!” They fell about in helpless fits of laughter. Then a hissing noise came from the pot, and Salvarad swiftly put out the fire. “Brekkist served, yer ‘ighness!” They buffeted each other for a while, then fell to eating. When they were finished they got up, and put their bowls and the pot in a wooden tub. They filled it with seawater and then washed the dishes as best they could. When they were done Samilcar wiped his paws on a rag, torn from some spare sail. Then Salvarad beckoned to him, and asked, “What’s that ship doin’ on the horizon, sir?” Samilcar leaned back in the aft, sighed, and rolled his eyes. “I dunno, go ask it.” Salvarad gave a quick spurt of laughter, then said, “Well, sir, it seems to be a war ship.” Samilcar leaped up, and cried, “What, a war ship! Oh, and less of that ‘sir,’ that’s a royal command!”