11th of Ilcuk; Monsoon Season
Batri rolls to his feet, the blade that he clutches At night like a child does their doll unsheathed and pointed in the direction of Speaks With Ghosts. The blade waves slightly between his companions, a low growl coming from his throat. His hard eyes and tense body soften when he realizes it is just his friend though he seems miles away as He sheathes his blade. A slight quiver foiling his first attempt.
“All of these ominous portents are becoming unsettling. I’m beginning to think carrying messages for nobles while avoiding their assassins was preferable.” He sighs, “Other than the dream, Speaks with Ghosts, you are well? Better than last night?”