Chapter 79
We stood in front of the boat.
Or at least, the thing that the Emberkin had sworn was a boat. The term was offensive to actual boats. If any real sailor laid eyes on it, they'd probably weep or spontaneously combust out of sheer indignation.
Still, to their credit, it floated. Technically.
"It's a miracle," Vorrak declared. "A miracle made out of poor life choices, and at least four different incompatible architectural philosophies."
The planks were jagged and uneven. Some even held together with ceremonial daggers instead of actual nails. The sails were stitched together from old tents, blankets, flags, and, I'm fairly sure, at least half a dozen underpants. Ritual graffiti covered every surface: swirls, eyes, spirals, jagged flames, what might've been a frog holding a wrench, and, scrawled in blood-orange dye on one side, a very large painted eye.
The other side was adorned with a lumpy brown shape that sparked a heated debate between Vorrak and Finn.
