The rain soaked him, but he didn't notice. He remained on the beach, sitting. He was quiet, no noise had been uttered since he'd finished reeming himself out. He removed his dagger from his belt, and stabbed it into the sand beside him. He'd stabbed it in hard, so that only the hilt stuck out of the solid, cold, wet sand. He shook his head, mostly to get his hair out of his eyes, and stared out at the sea.
He dropped his hand to the hilt of his dagger, pulling it out in one sharp yank, and burying it to the hilt again in another place. Then he stood, resheathing the dagger, and walking slowly back towards the Academy, placing the whistle in his mouth, and beginning to play a melancholy song, that sounded like everything, and nothing at the same time.
He dropped his hand to the hilt of his dagger, pulling it out in one sharp yank, and burying it to the hilt again in another place. Then he stood, resheathing the dagger, and walking slowly back towards the Academy, placing the whistle in his mouth, and beginning to play a melancholy song, that sounded like everything, and nothing at the same time.