Camilla screamed and scrambled back, scraping her back on the few supplies they had managed to fish from the water. The sharks great maw snapped shut as they beasts tried to reach the cast away with desperate mindless hunger. Ivan roared something between a scream of frustration and a battlecry and, to Camilla's amazement swung a heavy peice of timber in a blinding arc that ended in the head of one of the sharks as it lunged forward. There was a titanic crack of rending timber and popping cartilage and the beast flopped spasticaly back into the water.

"That, Little Dove, is how you go fishing," he rumbled, seemingly in a better mood than he had been in days. Camilla wondered if it was simply the fact that he had an enemy he could see and strike, rather than invisible but implacable foes of hunger, thirst and exposure.

"Alright," Camilla said from her parched throat, "but you are filleting this one."

Camilla dozed as she hung in the lookout post. The sun beat down and she could feel her skin burning despite the makeshift shade. At times she dreamed, snatches of Tilea, of the Skaven in the mountains and of other places which she had never been in the waking world. A cawing sound recalled her to wakefulness and she snapped alert, her skin prickling. Gazing around the calm sea she saw little to comfort her until her eyes fell on a dark smudge on the eastern horizon. Black specs, perhaps distant birds could just be made out, circling.

"Cydric!" She yelled down excited, "Cyrdic there is land!" She pointed out in the direction of the distantly visible green.