It was another blistering day along the coast, with the winds out to sea and into a roiling storm in the east. We should not have been there, spying as we were from behind the sea grapes, but rumors of pirates spreads fast in our village and we were never ones to turn down a chance for adventure. But what we saw, it made no sense. Yes, the pirates were there, with the ship moored in deeper waters and rowboats aplenty lining the shore. They should have been an impressive sight, clothed as they were in the most expensive finery we had ever seen as if they had come ashore to celebrate, but instead they scrabbled about the sand, cursing and picking at pebbles. Their captain was red faced and shouting at a brute of a man, who was hunched as if the words assaulted more than his ears, more than his pride. They had come thinking our sands were golden with treasure, the captain shouted, lured by the words of a sea witch whose lies had reached his first mate. If they could not gather treasure, they would gather pebbles instead and bury the sea witch in depths so dark that even the sharks would not be able to descend upon her to feed. We watched until sundown, in confusion, in amusement, and in fear. We watched until sundown as all the shore’s pebbles were rowed back to the ship and sailed away into the night.