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Bum. Bum. Bum. Bumm. The beat of the leather skin drum kept the oarsmen on The Leapin’ Lizard on rhythm and in tandem, though Jack Thacker had grown weary of it in recent weeks. He heard it in his sleep; at his meals; even on deck. The thumping echoed in Jack’s head like a permanent headache...

The sky was that bluish-grey of a cool twilight on the threshold of Summer and Autumn. The sun still warming Alliria, but it was now all but peeking through the architecture of the city. What was- up until recent days- a warm embrace was now just a gentle stroke on Rignid's ruddy cheek as he...