Cayvie's Log: Return of the Masked Invader
It truly saddens me to hear that several fine young sailors on the Eriphyle have been stricken with horrible longing for any sort of home, so much so that it has impacted their sailing abilities. Perhaps this could be why they, rather bafflingly, decided to assault the Odyssey? The logic of their actions eludes me, certainly; they seem to act out of impulse rather than reason. Such is the way of the sea, I suppose, which I guess is why it sickens me so.
Fortunately, our crew appear to be in fine spirits, even as we approach the very center of the Mediterranean. Josh has continued to surprise me with his versatility; I once thought he was nothing more than a brawny fighter, but he appears to have picked up the intricacies of sailing in hardly any time at all. What a clever lad; I only hope his ambition doesn't cause him to overstrain himself. I'll just keep reminding him that we're making steady progress, and as long as we make it to Ithaca, we'll be fine. Aaron has also continued to be quite a blessing, somehow seeming more enthusiastic the further we get from land. I don't know how he does it, but it certainly has kept me from despairing at all.
On a darker note, I have been hearing strange whisperings in my slumbers, in languages I do not comprehend, but which still somehow manage to convey a feeling of profound dread. Why, last night, I dreamt that I was on the bottom of the sea, but I could breathe and see normally. There was neither fish nor sea-plant to be seen. I found myself chanting, in a voice that was not my own, words that I could not remember upon waking. I do not know what this foretells; I pray it is nothing more than a dream. I will not tell the others for fear of dampening their moods.
Fortunately, our crew appear to be in fine spirits, even as we approach the very center of the Mediterranean. Josh has continued to surprise me with his versatility; I once thought he was nothing more than a brawny fighter, but he appears to have picked up the intricacies of sailing in hardly any time at all. What a clever lad; I only hope his ambition doesn't cause him to overstrain himself. I'll just keep reminding him that we're making steady progress, and as long as we make it to Ithaca, we'll be fine. Aaron has also continued to be quite a blessing, somehow seeming more enthusiastic the further we get from land. I don't know how he does it, but it certainly has kept me from despairing at all.
On a darker note, I have been hearing strange whisperings in my slumbers, in languages I do not comprehend, but which still somehow manage to convey a feeling of profound dread. Why, last night, I dreamt that I was on the bottom of the sea, but I could breathe and see normally. There was neither fish nor sea-plant to be seen. I found myself chanting, in a voice that was not my own, words that I could not remember upon waking. I do not know what this foretells; I pray it is nothing more than a dream. I will not tell the others for fear of dampening their moods.
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