The captain staggered onto the deck of his ship, three sheets to the wind. He blinked in the harsh glare of the sunlight and surveyed the miles and miles of sand around their beached brigantine. Or what was left of it at least. He looked to the first mate, who refused to make eye contact.
"Rough landing, Mr. Thrush?"
"Aye, Captain. We're a bit worse for wear, and a tad off course."
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