Withal stood on the beach, feeling the faint wisps of wind that managed to reach through the sorcerous barrier surrounding the island, brushing against his face like a woman’s breath. A sweet woman, to be more precise. Unlike the one standing beside him. This tall, iron-eyed, foul-mouthed, humourless apparition who followed him around and never seemed to sleep and certainly would not let him sleep, not a single damned night the whole night through, not once. Always asking, asking and asking. What are you going to do? Besides praying? Well, what else could he do?
