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Crouching among the reeds, under a low, faded sky, you catch your breath. Ignoring the pain that radiates through your shoulder, you look around you, bitterly replaying the last events. Fool that you were! Foolish to trust this scum of Atreus. Once you received his message, asking to meet you in secret for a matter of capital importance, you went to this place like a lamb offering itself to the butcher, accompanied only by your three faithful lieutenants. The latter are now rotting a little further away, riddled with marks, covered with blue flies, already partly swallowed by the mud... As for you, here you are, hunted like a lion during a hunt, with an arrow in the shoulder. Around you, you can see from time to time the silhouettes of your pursuers in the thickets of papyrus and gorse, bow in hand and the line notched. And each of their arrows has your name engraved on its tip...

This demon of Atreus has calculated his move well in bringing you here, on this spit of marshy land, isolated, bordered by shallow waters, invaded by insects. His men have spread along the banks and are spreading out in search of you, like a fisherman's trap closing in on his prey. You should have known that this dog would never accept having a rival to the throne of Meryne. It would be easy for him to pass off your **** as an accident and claim the title. You have managed to fight your way through his spadassins but now you are lost, exhausted and wounded. You must get back to your ship, anchored in a sheltered cove nearby. These reeds will not be able to hide you forever. The pain in your shoulder makes you grit your teeth. The line is not very deep, perhaps you could remove it...