He's a Pirate

Wind.  Wind and rain.

"Blast you, boy!  Get down from that nest and onto the mast!  Help pull up the sails, you useless lubber!"  The captain's shouts somehow carried above the howl of the gale and the thunder of the rain on the ship's deck.

"Y-Yes Sir!" the golden-haired boy called back, spluttering but somehow loud enough to be heard himself.

Will did as he was told, nimbly jumping out of his usual perch in the crow's nest and onto one of the ship's large cross-beams on the main mast.  He scampered along the pole completely upright, somehow keeping perfect balance despite the rolling and pitching of the ship atop the ever-growing swells of the blackened ocean.

Several other sailors were already up there, frantically pulling up the sail and bunching it up so that the rising winds of the storm wouldn't tear it from the mast.  Several of those several boggled at the blond landlubber as he approached.  Even though they had seen this sort of thing at least twice now, they still couldn't believe that this kid had such an...inhuman grace to him.  But it wasn't just that...Nothing could knock him down; nothing could throw him for a loop; nothing could get by him, and by God, nothing could kill him.  

They had all seen with their own eyes, the first day he was found adrift, after a crewman and the First Mate had dragged his soggy corpse out of the waves...He gave the Captain a bit of lip and the Captain shot him square between the eyes.  Five minutes later, the straw-headed little demon was on his feet again, boggling at the blood.

And in the space of three seconds, he had already crossed from the Crow's Nest to mid-mast and was pulling up his part of the sail with a strength too uncanny for those skinny chicken's limbs.

"Blood and thunder!" the captain cursed as the pitching of the ship hurled him into the stern's railing, hard.  He lurched forward and seized the rudder wheel.  "Finish the sail and off the mast, you sods!  Button down the damned hatches before I throw you to Davy Jones myself!"

For some reason, Will couldn't help a smile at the grizzled, black-haired man's words.  He didn't know why the man bothered to continue insulting his crew when every black-hearted cuthroat on the pirate vessel had already heard them a hundred times before and a hundred times worse.  When insults failed to motivate, he guessed, maybe it was just habit.

He nimbly leapt off the mainsail and landed in a smooth tuck-and-roll on the deck, managing to avoid crashing into the starboard railing despite the ship's pitching.  Several pirates boggled at him once again before scrambling spider-like down the rigging to join him.

The storm raged.  Will worked.  He smiled.  When the storm was over, his guitar, Pheidra, was waiting.  He would finish fixing her, and when he finally did, he'd teach himself how to play, and to the Locker with what the pirates said.