"An eye for an eye. A soul for a soul. Summon the dead for the war of life! Rally the corpses to lay siege to your King's enemies, for the dead outlast the living."
- Lane Wheatfield
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Syryn's dreams had been getting out of hand. Three nights in a row he had been awakened by Rowan when the anti mage had noticed magical flux being emitted by the mage. Syryn would have set their room on fire had Rowan not roused him from a restless dream.
This was now the fourth time he found himself on the boat. Syryn was used to the whistling. The mage sat on the boat staring at his bare feet. There was nothing to be afraid of, he reasoned. The whistle could haunt him all it liked but it was sound, and sound, at least this one, couldn't hurt him.
"Overturn the boat and drown me for all I care," he told the creature that was rocking his little boat. "Go on, do it."
