[center][b]The Next Morning[/b][/center]

Captain Church awoke before dawn, his senses rising with the tide. The dark interior of his cabin was still and quiet, save for the gentle creaking of the ship as it rocked in the calm harbor waters. The faint scent of salt and tar hung in the air, a familiar aroma that was as much a part of him as the ship itself. He lay still for a moment, listening to the distant, rhythmic lap of waves against the hull, a sound that had become his lullaby. But there was work to be done, and as the first pale light of morning began to seep through the small window near his bunk, he rose from his bed, his mind already on the tasks ahead.

Dressing as quickly as one could with the attire of a captain to look his best on their day of launch, Church pulled on his better coat and boots, the leather soft from years of use but with clear care taken to not let the navy blue of the fabric fad. He stepped out onto the quarterdeck, where the cool pre-dawn breeze met him, carrying with it the full scent of the sea. The horizon was just beginning to glow with the promise of sunrise, casting a dim light over the anchored ship. His eyes scanned the harbor, where he could see the shadowy shapes of small boats making their way toward the ship, their occupants barely visible in the half-light.

The crew, returning from their nights armed with shoreleave wounds and scars, rowed silently, the oars dipping into the water with practiced ease. Church could see the dark outlines of their forms, huddled against the chill of the early morning. As the boats drew closer, the sound of voices carried across the water, low and murmured, as the men exchanged their evening's choices. They were tired, but there was a sense of purpose in their movements, a readiness to begin the day’s work.

The first of the boats bumped gently against the side of the ship, and the crew began to clamber aboard, their footsteps echoing on the wooden deck. Church greeted each man with a nod as they passed, his eyes assessing them in the dim light. None were foolish enough to come still drunk, but he still needed to make sure. Once they were on board few orders had to be given as Bart could be seen dropping from the last boat. He carried with him several books which he tapped and then made way to the captains cabin to store the treasured books. The faint clinking of metal and the rustle of ropes filled the air as the rest of the crew readied the sails and checked the rigging, their movements fluid and coordinated.

Among the crew were a few new faces, passengers who had stayed in the town for their last night. Some likely said farewell to other families while a few more simply wished to stay on their beds one last time. They came aboard with their belongings, eyes wide with curiosity as they took in the sight of the ship’s deck in the early light. Church watched them and, noting the nervousness in their expressions, walked over to greet them and called on Cannon to escort them to the cabins with the other passengers. These were not men and women used to the sea, and the days ahead would be an awakening for them. He offered them a brief nod, a gesture of reassurance, as they were shown to their quarters.

As the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, the ship came alive with activity. The crew worked with quiet determination, the ship slowly transforming from a sleeping giant into a vessel ready to take on the open sea. Church felt the familiar stir of anticipation in his chest as he moved to the helm, the weight of responsibility settling comfortably on his shoulders. The day was beginning, and with it, a new journey awaited.

“To the horn.” Captain Church said to himself. He would be lying if he didn’t say he allowed his nerves to grip him. In a nervous habit he had collected during his early years as a young sailor he played with his cuff as if his sleeves were too short. The coat always fit his dad better anyways.