| [It's a dark place, and cramped. Crates and barrels fill the small room and, after a few moments, it becomes obvious that this room is a cargo hold on a ship. Not a new, modern ship made of metal and rivets. But an old one made of wood and tar. There's no porthole to look out and the only light comes from the gaps in the planks overhead. There's a torch in a holder, but it's not lit.
In the farthest corner from the door, behind a bunch of crates, is a scrawny boy of about twelve. His face has some fairly bad scarring and a couple cuts that haven't had time heal yet. His clothes are dirty - of course, so is he - and too big for him. They make him look even smaller than he is. He's been starved, that much is clear, and he's scarfing down on this seemingly endless supply of apples. Each time he takes one from the barrel, another shows up in its place so the level never goes down.]
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