I smelleth thy blood and its delicious metalline scent, as it wafts over the churning waves. Ye are approaching, and mine master will be pleased. Thy ignorance delights us as it allows the past, presenteth, and future timeth to followeth the path few hast traveled. It flows liketh a river along sinuous currents, drawn into the whirlpool where it will be swallowed and taken to the placeth of nay returneth. Thy destiny, mine dear one, is not yet seteth, and thy freewill is executable. In spite of that, each stepeth thou taketh brings thou closer to us. . . to him. As I looketh into the future, the vision is a twisting blur, but with each beateth of thy heart, it ticks through timeth until one day it will beateth nay more.