Wet, oppressive heat blankets the river bank. Horseflies harass Viktor and Faeron as they prepare for departure and for Merc's send-off to whatever afterlife awaits him. Garrick stares into space, struggling to find meaning and internal balance as billiard balls of fury and grief clack violently in his mind. Settling into what repose he can find, he rubs salve into blisters where his amulet had been used as a weapon against him in the recent battle, fingers moving in rhythm with the lolling of the boat There Be Booty as they prepare for the next leg of their journey. What does he feel as he holds the box? Even the reminiscence of carving its intricate details, each notch a tiny act of devotion to his Lia, is both comfort and... something unspeakable. Entek... That son of a bitch had handled this box, this almost sacred expression of what he could otherwise barely say to... an angel. And that angel had refused to betray Garrick under torture, thus proving her love. And if Garrick doesn't arrive in time, sealing her fate. Entek... His reverie is interrupted by the fluttering breeze of Hunter's flapping wings settling behind him. Bor's beefy paw of a hand clasps his shoulder, and he looks up to see Derik's outstretched hand. "There'll be time enough for that on the way, friend. Let's get moving."
