“They ran, Noni. Go home, my boy! They ran off like goats. I was laughing so much, Noni.”
Both laugh.
“Take down that toy, Khorre. Yes, yes, a little ship. He made it, Khorre.”
They examine the toy.
“Look how skilfully the jib was made, Khorre. Good boy, Philipp! But the halyards are bad, look. No, Philipp! You never saw how real ships are fitted out—real ships which rove over the ocean, tearing its grey waves. Was it with this toy that you wanted to quench your little thirst—fool?”
He throws down the little ship and rises:
“Khorre! Boatswain!”
“Yes.”
“Call them! I assume command again, Khorre!”
The sailor turns pale and shouts enthusiastically: