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Tarn
Tarn had pushed more than his share of boulders and rocks down to the cave entrance, and now he sat contentedly chewing on a piece of dried reindeer meat which he had taken from inside his coat. He was perched close to the edge, and kept peering down to see if the trapped elves would appear. A pile of small sharp stones was at hand in case a head should manage to pop itself through the wall of rubble. He didn’t think this likely, but he would have some more good sport if this did come to pass.
The muffled sound of shouts came drifting up from behind the fallen rocks and Tarn looked around at Nilak and the corsairs, grinning. The shouts became more frantic and he heard some screaming, which made him laugh “Go on, scream like women in a thunderstorm!” he thought to himself, “You’re trapped in the Cave of the Dead and you’re all going to be food for the little fishies”
Tarn cast an eye out to sea. It was getting closer to noon. The tide was coming in, and it looked like it would be a high one. He saw the gulls coming closer to shore and below them the great shoals of fish which only came so far in on the highest of tides. He thought of the water filling up the cave, putting out the lanterns, consuming those trapped within, and how it would recede when it had claimed them all, only to wash up again and again until it had made skeletons of them all. A shudder crept down his spine as he thought of it, and shaking the thought off, he turned to the others to tell them about the tide.
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