"We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot,
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.
We kidnap and ravange and don't give a hoot,
Drink up me hearties, yo ho.
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.
We extort, we pilfer, we filch, and sack,
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho.
Maraud and embezzle, and even high-jack,
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho.
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.
We kindle and char, inflame and ignite,
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho.
We burn up the city, we're really a fright,
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho."
These were the words that could be heard over the plains. Sung by a low, slightly raspy voice, these were the words that defined a lifestyle. Many knew of them, feared them. Few knew them closely. But even the youngest had at least heard of them, felt a chill in their hearts at the word.
Pirate.
However, the brute that these words came from was not your typical pirate. Yes, he is a him. He is not human; the blood of a non-ape creature runs through his veins. I'll give you a few clues. His body is splotched with great patches of light mahogany, hard orb light blue; indeed, he has only one, with four scars, one only partway down the eye. Mane is two-tone; about a third of the way down it is torn out. Once it was accidental, now self-inflicted. A tribute to the creature that took out his left orb. It also added to the sinister appearance of the animal that strode confidently through the tall grass. Sure, he ws sinister, but that didn't mean that he couldn't have a kind heart, now did it? No, he was Light, differing from his Neutral and Dark dam and sire. Ah, another clue. You probably guessed the beast's shape, haven't you? Yep. Equine.
|~|
My singing was interrupted by a noise, far out in the endless field of grassy terrain that I had entered. Keeping one light russet aud pointed toward the sound, I continued to sing, yet softer, more tentative this time, as I came to my favorite verse of this centuries-old song.
"We're rascals, scoundrels, villans, and knaves,
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho.
We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs,
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho.
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me."
Russet maw closed, hiding darker ivory fangs. Pale sky orb blinked, and surveyed the landscape, wary of any dangers that may come to a part-blind brute like myself. For five of seven years I have lived with this disability, but I have gotten used to it, grown to like it. That, and my mane being ripped out about a third of the way down, where the brown section ends and white begins. Before it was an injury, now it has turned seft-inflicted. Two-tone whipcord swished once. Hind pillar stomped the ground--the only russet one of four pistons--with a smoke-gray dagger as I waited. Figuring that no one would come without me telling them I was here, I trumpeted, my low, slightly raspy voice echoing across the plains.