The days had passed quickly, and here they stood, on the decks of the famed black-sailed ship, drifting out towards the sea. Though, currently, they did not hoist their black sails. They wore white.
They decided to adopt the same pattern as they had when they retreated last time, and change their sails behind the same peninsula of land. But before then, they merely had to sit and wait, watching over and waiting for the ship that Isabella had pointed out.
They were a good distance from all other ships, and so, even though they were dressed in their black armour and masked, none could see enough of them to feel suspicion.
The Morojo's had done their repairs admirably, and if anything, the ship felt better than it had before. They had not yet managed to coat the interior of the hull in iron, or steel – to strengthen it – but the new wood used for the repairs certainly added a lot.
