Hurk settled down in the middle of the fishing boat, his head resting on his discarded jacket, and closed his eyes. He had one hand wrapped protectively around the handle of his greatsword, which was lying down on the floor next to him. The constant rocking of the boat was comforting, and within no time the merc had drifted off into sleep, his dreams full of the rhythmic ringing of struck metal, the hiss of cooling steel, and the scent of a blacksmith's spiced tea.
