Emptying the lifeboat was a tedious process, especially without help. Granted, Darvuul wouldn't have allowed anyone to help even if they'd offered. These things were all that he'd been able to salvage from his shop before the siege closed down the city, and they represented the wealth of generations of his family. So, he stumped back and forth carrying his goods above the high tide line, maintaining his grumbling litany oblivious to the arrivals and departures of the other refugees. It seemed to take forever, but really it wasn't that much later when he finally set down the last crate and sat on top of it.

The cigar was slightly less damp than it had been the last time, but the matches were still useless. That wasn't a problem now that the boat was unloaded, though. A quick rummage through one of the chests produced a small bottle shaped like a dragon. Flipping open the hinged stopper produced a cone of intense blue flame hot enough to light even the soggy cheroot clenched between his teeth. He took a deep puff and blew out a foul-smelling cloud of smoke as he watched the strange birds taking flight.

The motion of the birds drew his attention to the scattered line of people walking purposefully down shore. Elves, most of them, which meant they knew a lot more about living in the wild than he did, and therefore he should follow them.

Darvuul frowned and looked at the large pile he'd so laboriously carried away from the water. Obviously he couldn't carry it all at once, but he wasn't leaving it behind! He frowned at the sea resentfully for causing so much trouble, and his eyes lit on the boat he'd come to shore in.

A yellowed smile split Darvuul's face, and he hurried to haul the lifeboat out of the water.