The 35th day at sea in the 56th year of the reign of King Brieuc of House Erdos.
I am glad I had the foresight to grab my pack when the ship was under attack. I kept this journal close, and miraculously, it has survived the seawater. Doran's words are faded, but still here for me to read and read again.
I feel a pit in my stomach as I write these words. Kegan and I made it to land. We managed to find water and build a crude shelter. We at least have our wits about us, but I fear that the madness that has gripped me is only increasing. It was worsened two days ago when I heard the voice for the first time, and now it only grows.
Instead of a yearning deep in the pit of my being, I hear a soft whisper. Sometimes it has words that I understand, but most of the time it's a lilting voice, almost like a song. I wonder if it is her, the spirit who called Doran out into the snow that fateful night.
I've come to understand that she was the last remnant of a past and a people long forgotten. Perhaps she calls to me now, wanting to be remembered. Even now, as I write this, her song is playing in my ears, just beneath the rolling of the waves across the beach.
I think, though, there is meaning to this song. I think she tells me to escape Kegan and come to her alone.
This frightens me. I don't think I can forge ahead on my own. And what would become of Kegan if he were left to his own devices?
He is sleeping peacefully now, under the shelter we cobbled together with thick tree branches. It would be easy, she whispers. Simply walk away. But I can't bring myself to stand. I need to rest. Things will be clearer in the morning.