The Hidden Swann

Chapter 5 - In Which a Piece of Meat Gives Good Advice

 Author's Note:

I feel reeaaaally excited right now. I feel like I am on a role, in terms of this story. I actually wrote half of this chapter right after posting Chapter 4. I just finished the rest of the chapter like two minutes ago. I hope you guys enjoy and please, please, please.... Comment/Vote/Fan

Especially Comment. I really want some feedback about what I could improve about the story and what you like about and stuff.

Thanks!!

Picture of Jack Greaves to the right.

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One Week Later

The moon is full and bright, lighting my way as I carefully pick my way around and across the hundreds of rocks and boulders littering the entrance of the cave. After a very narrow scrapes and a bruised knee, I make it to the cave’s entrance and peer in. Relieved to find the tide low, I lift one edge of my skirt and slowly walk in.

“Greaves?” I call out, my voice echoing back from the end of the cave. “Hello?”

“Anna.” I hear a husky voice from the shadows to my left.  

“Hello Greaves.” I say slinging my sack over my shoulder and carefully walking across the cave, thankful that the light of the full moon is shining and eliminating the way. The rocks were already dangerous and loose, to walk in complete darkness would be disastrous, especially for me.  

“What are you doing here? And why are you bringing me food?” Greaves asks harshly.

“What?” I fake horror. “I can’t be nice anymore? Is that a new law that Father forsook to tell me?”

“No,” He says, then a small smile appears on his face, “But it does say that in the Pirate Code.”

“Ha, ha, ha.” I reply sarcastically.

“Why are you here?” He asks again.

When I get to a small platform, I put my sack down and rub my shoulder. Carrying a bag filled with food across town isn’t exactly the easiest thing to do.

I turn to Greaves. “Well,” I tell him, “If you must know, I needed someone to talk to so I decided I might as well bring your food a week early. I also did it to be nice, not that you even know what that means, and because you’d probably be as helpful as dust if I didn’t.”

Greaves chuckles but it turns into a nasty cough lasting at least ten seconds.

Dragging the sack over to the feet of the old man, I get to my knees and start rummaging in the old crate that Greaves always keeps to the left of his “throne” as he likes to call it.

“What are you doing?” he asks brusquely.

“Ah, here it is.” I say, ignoring his question and getting to my feet and holding up a small vial.