AN: Vaguely based off of W. A. Hoffman's "Raised By Wolves" series. Setting is sort of the same, but all the characters are mine.

Sieve breathed in the scent of salt and brine as the spray of the sea coated his face. The ship rocked under him as the waved tossed it to and fro, but he had long since gotten used to the constant movement and trained his body to work with it as he walked about on the deck. It was a skill all pirates had to master, lest they become a hindrance on the rest of the crew.

His eyes were closed as he breathed in lungful after lungful of the sweet air. Mornings like this were why he was alive. He loved the sea with all his heart, more than he had ever loved anything else. The intangible clearness of the air was like a drug; one he had no desire to be rid of. The cry of the gulls aroused his heart, pulling him outward to the very heart of the sea’s being.

Yes, there was nothing better than being on the sea. He gripped the railing of the boat tighter under his fingers, feeling the thick mahogany slide smoothly beneath his fingertips. It just couldn’t get any better than this.

“Hey, kid! Get down from there! This is a private ship, ya welp!”

Sieve opened his eyes, disappointed that his fantasy had to be over. In reality, he was not a pirate, but just a sixteen-year-old boy with a dream. His eyes flicked to the sailor, one attending to the ship he had chosen for its beauty, and noted the pissed look in the man’s eyes. Whether this man knew who he was or not, he would not hesitate to throw him overboard. With a sigh, he left the ship, all the while feeling the man’s eyes on his back.

The Jamaica weather was never one to brag about, and definitely not to be enjoyed. There were, however, days when it could be called tolerable. Today was one of those days. The humidity was not quite as stifling as it usually was, and Sieve had even opted to wear a tunic that day instead of going topless. His long hair, pulled back in a band, stuck to his neck but with the shirt covering his back it fanned out almost comfortably in dark strands.

Whatever weather it happened to be, he never wore shoes, which enraged his father to no end. He had long since become accustomed to walking on the ground with bare feet, and his soles had become tough as leather. He no longer felt the small rocks pressing into his skin. He knew that wearing shoes was most decidedly uncomfortable, though when necessary he would wrap strips of leather across his feet in a makeshift sandal.

The boy knew that he should go home. His parents probably didn’t even know he was gone yet, as he had snuck out his bedroom window again, but he didn’t want to return. He stared longingly at the ships lined up at the dock; the sailors loading cargo, and captains standing at the helm, ready to set sail. How he wished to simply stow away with one, but he knew the moment they found him he would be brought back. Everyone knew who he was; the embarrassment of his family, son of Lord Malniel and sole heir to his title.

He had never wanted his father’s title. To be a noble meant having to wear stuffy, frilly clothes and shoes, cutting his hair, being polite to people he didn’t like, and, most importantly, never seeing the sea.

He moved reluctantly away from the docks and into town, where it was just starting to mill with people who had woken not an hour before. Mostly blacksmiths looking for tools before the rush started, or ladies with small purses browsing vegetables in the market to buy for supper. Sieve was not interested in either of these. He moved to the small weapons shop, smiling at the old man behind the counter.

“Good morning, Jet,” he said cheerily. The old man smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling in a friendly way.

“Lord Sieve,” he admonished teasingly. “Should you not be at your father’s estate so early? You were not out making trouble for the sailors again, were you?” Sieve grinned sheepishly.

“I was not in their way. It is not my fault they find my presence to be so hindering.” He surveyed the table full of pistols with interest. “Any way you’ll sell any of these to me today, Jet?”

“I’m afraid not, my boy. One as young as yourself has no need for such weapons.” Sieve shrugged. Jet had a point; he didn’t need one right now. There was no point, though he desperately longed to hold one. He had been given lessons on how to shoot one, as well as lessons in swordfight, and longed to try his skills. Still, Jet did not sell to children. Loathe as he was to admit it, that is what the world saw him as; a mere child.

“I expected as much,” he told the old man. “Rest assured, I will have one of your weapons someday Jet.”

“That is assuming I am still alive when you need one, boy.” The mirth twinkled in the old man’s eyes. Sieve had become friends with Jet a few years ago, when he first came to Jamaica and set up a business making weapons. Despite the man’s age, he made surprisingly fine weapons. His pistols were always very beautiful to look at, as well as sturdy to shoot, and his swords did not give out for many years. Sieve also liked him because he was one of the only people on the island that treated him as person, rather than a noble or a nuisance.

“Your father will be missing you, Sieve,” the old man said kindly. “You should probably get back up to the house. It’s only a matter of time before he comes out here to get ya.” Reluctantly, the boy admitted that Jet was right. Saying goodbye to the old man, he walked in the direction of his father’s estate.

However, he didn’t go to the house. As soon as he was out of sight of Jet’s shop, he meandered off track, vaguely in the direction of the stables, where all the nobles’ horses were kept.

He always found the company of the horses to be much better than that of his father or the other nobles whom he was sometimes forced to meet with a metaphorical pressed to his back. His father was not a patient man, and one slip to someone important could earn him a bruise or broken bone, depending on what kind of mood the man was in. The horses had never so much as trampled on him before, she when he could he would slip out to visit them.

Sometimes stable boys were inside grooming the beasts, but luckily nobody was there when Sieve arrived. The stalls held rows upon rows of horses, all different colors depending on the preference of the owner. He did not have one of his own, regrettably, but he knew his father’s horse quite well. He moved to that one now, placing his hand gently on the horse’s soft muzzle.

“Hey there, Baratheus,” he said quietly, staring into the creature’s soft brown eyes. The stallion nickered in greeting, bumping his muzzle against Sieve’s hand excitedly. The boy chuckled at the horse’s reaction. His father’s beautiful stallion, chestnut in color with one black spot on his rump, was one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen. He wished dearly for Baratheus to be his own horse, since his father obviously did not treat him with the respect such a proud stallion should be treated with.

“Is your hoof feeling okay?” Sieve asked, continuing his one-sided conversation. He knew a few days ago his father had pushed Baratheus too hard on the tracks, and the poor thing had hurt his hoof treading on a pointed rock. He had walked with a limp for some days afterward. Sieve had felt afraid that the horse had broken it, and would have to be shot. Luckily, that had not been the case, but his father had been more than ready to do so.

Sieve wanted to stay with the horse, but he knew the time had come when he had to go back to the house. If his father found him missing again, he would be furious and come looking for him. Sieve did not want to be found outside of the house. Muttering a quick goodbye to the horse and promising sugar upon his return, the boy quickly slipped out of the house and made his way home.

The estate he lived in was large; much larger than his relatively small family knew what to do with. Luckily, they made up for it in servants. They had so many the house was often buzzing with activity. It was difficult to climb back up to his room from the outside, so he often had to come in the front door. Unfortunately, the front door opened into the kitchen, where his mother and sister were currently having breakfast.

“Sieve,” his mother said as he entered, shaking her head. “Where have you been? Your father just left.” The boy stiffened.

“Looking for me?” He asked.

“I don’t think so; I believe he had a meeting with another Lord.” The woman beckoned him over and he obeyed, stopping beside her chair. “Look at what a mess you are,” she admonished, fingering his greasy hair. She clucked her tongue. “You should really cut your hair, dear, it looks barbaric so long. Go ask Peter to draw you a bath and fetch clean clothes before you sit down to breakfast. You look positively ghastly.” Sieve sighed and did as he was told. Peter was his personal servant, a man nearly twice his age with a penchant for silently doing whatever anyone asked him to do. He almost never spoke unless asked to, and certainly never let his guard down amidst Sieve or any other members of the family. The man was as stiff and as regal as any noble, and Sieve didn’t much like him.

Still, he asked the man to draw him a bath and settled into the warm water, sighing at the feel of grime coming off his skin as he scrubbed. The sea was wonderful, but he did admit it left a very sticky feeling on his skin that he found unpleasant and left bit of salt in his hair that were hard to get out. When he was finished, the water was murky. He called for Peter to clean the water from the tub as he dried himself with a towel and made his way to his room.

Peter had taken his tunic and breeches that he wore, his favourite pair which he liked to wear almost constantly. He cursed the man, for he had wanted to continue wearing the clothes, but he knew they wouldn’t be thrown away. They would be washed this afternoon and hung out to dry. He would have them back again by tomorrow. Reluctantly, he chose the clothes from his closet that were the least stuffy and slipped into them. His hair he tied back into a band once more. It would be easier to take care of if he cut it, truly, but he was loathe to do so. He liked his long hair, and believed cutting it in the way a gentleman might would make him look too proper. His feet remained bare.

He made his way to the breakfast table, sitting next to his younger sister Lillian and across from his mother. Her gaze flicked towards him for a moment before returning to her plate, seemingly deciding to not comment on his appearance.

“Good morning, brother,” Lillian said, smiling. At nine years old, Lillian was one of the cheeriest members of his family, and the only one whom he could truly stand. He returned her smile as he reached for bread and butter to bite into. Breakfast was, as usual, silent. Nobody had much to say, really. His mother had long since stopped trying to tell him how silly he acted, he had long since tired of starting arguments with a single syllable, and Lillian had become so used to the silence that she fell into it more easily than the rest of them.

Their mother, Lady Robyn Malniel, was a cold woman for the most part, much like her husband. She wasn’t a bad mother by a long shot, but she had long since lost interest in most things. Sieve had inherited his dark hair from her, unlike Lillian who had their father’s golden locks. They both had their mother’s piercing blue eyes, however, which was the only thing indicating they were even related.

Sieve didn’t particularly blame his mother for the way she was. After all, one couldn’t remain married to his father for very long without losing any personality they might have possessed. He pitied his mother, really, for her fate. He knew his mother was currently pregnant with her third child. It did not show, but she had told them some time ago about it. Secretly, Sieve hoped it was a boy. There was a slim chance that if his mother birthed a boy his father might name his new son his successor instead of Sieve.

He was not letting all his hopes rest on it, but it was something to get him through the madness.

An explosive sigh drew him out of his thoughts. His mother was staring sadly at the bread basket, out of which Sieve realized he had taken the last slice.

“I will have to send Glys to the market to get some more for supper,” she said, her eyes closing as if the thought of doing such a thing was physically painful for her. Sieve jumped at his chance.

“I will go,” he said, standing up from the table. He looked for any chance he could to leave the house, especially when given permission, so he could spend as much time as possible away from his father. His mother shook her head.

“No, no sit down. Going to the market is servant’s work…”

“Mother, please. Glys will be busy with many other things this day; I can go now and be back within the hour.” His mother seemed to think about this, and then sighed in resignation.

“Fine,” she said, moving to gather some money and pushing it into her son’s hands. “Be back before your father returns, though. If he comes back and finds you gone, he will be furious.” Sieve nodded and slipped out the door, welcoming the fresh air like an old friend.

He made his way into town happily, waving a hello to Jet once more before heading into the market. There he saw a familiar waterfall of brown hair.

“Ann-Marie!” He called. The girl turned, surprised that someone would call for her, but a smile crossed her face when she saw it was him.

“Sieve,” she said happily. She threw her arms around his neck as soon as he was within reach. “Oh, you have no idea how happy I am to see you. My mother is forcing me to shop for corsets.” Sieve glanced up from the girl to find her mother, a mirror image of her daughter, talking to a nearby vendor. He chuckled sympathetically.

“I am truly sorry for you. I have never tried one on myself, but I have been told that corsets are infinitely uncomfortable.” Ann-Marie nodded as she stepped back a pace from the boy.

“It feels as if the life is being squeezed from me,” she said. “It almost makes me wish I would become pregnant, simply so I would not have to wear one.” Her face turned faintly pink at these words, making Sieve smile. Ann-Marie was almost exactly his own age, and they had been friends ever since they were very small. They both knew that their parents hoped for them to be married someday. It had most likely been decided when they were born, so their families would be united into one large power. It was very good fortune that hey had grown so fond of each other over the years. Sieve still thought that he loved the sea more, but he knew that since he could not have it, being married to Ann-Marie would not be the most horrible fate.

“May that day come swiftly,” he said teasingly. He glanced over to the vendor and noticed her mother coming swiftly towards them to drag her daughter away to her grisly task.

“My Lady, I fear I must leave you to your fate. I have my own agenda and must return to it.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it, making her giggle. “May we meet again in the near future?”

“We may,” she replied, her eyes twinkling. He waved a quick goodbye to her and set off on his way. Truthfully, he would have rather gone shopping with Ann-Marie than on his own for groceries, but there would be hell to pay if he got back after his father. He had to move quickly.

The market was crowded at this time of the day, but he managed to get two good loaves of bread with the money his mother had given him. As he turned to get out of the throng, he literally bumped into a man and went sprawling to the ground, barely managing not to crush the package in his arms. The man he had run into glared down at him the way a king might stare at a pile of dung.

“Watch where yer goin’, kid,” he drawled, his words slurring more than any nobleman’s would. Sieve quickly stood up, embarrassed to be in such a weak position. He sent his own glare back at the man.

“My apologies,” he hissed venomously, “Perhaps if you had not been standing in the middle of the road I would not have run into you.”

“Perhaps if you would watch where you were goin’, you could have avoided me.” A sardonic smirk adorned the man’s face. “It takes a special kind’a stupid to run into an object that’s not even movin’.” Through his rage, Sieve took a moment to survey the man before him. He was a stocky sort of man, with obvious sinewy muscles bulging from his arms. A loose white tunic covered his chest, and breeches that looked almost homemade. A bandana wrapped around his head, just above his piercing black eyes, and several hoped earrings hung from his ears. Anger forgotten, he gaped up at the man.

“You’re a…a pirate.” He had never seen the man before; he had to be a pirate! He fit the description so well. He felt almost giddy with excitement; he had never actually met a pirate before. The man took his expression to be one of fear.

“That’s right, kiddie, and if ya don’t stay outta my way I’m gonna get my buddies to slit your throat in your sleep. I’m sure ya don’t want that.” With a smug grin on his face, thoroughly proud with himself for scaring a young boy, he sauntered off and melted into the crowd. Sieve didn’t fail to notice that he wore no shoes either.

The boy was stunned. His first encounter with a pirate. Sure, it hadn’t exactly been a dream encounter, and the man had been rather crude, but it was an encounter nonetheless. Most importantly, it meant pirates had actually come to port!

Pirates here…wow. He was nearly shaking with excitement as he made his way home.