Rik lay motionless, forcing himself not to open his eyes. He could feel the weight of Faran's sword on top of his blanket but it did nothing to make him feel at all safe. He was wide awake, and fear was growing on him, pushing at him to race screaming down the mountain. He opened his eyes at last and sat up, quietly moving Faran's sword off the blanket as he did so. The others were sound asleep, and Dale was sitting on a rock not far away. Rik looked at him then swallowed. Dale's head was bent in slumber, and Rik had the terrible feeling that if a skeleton walked up to the camp now, no one would notice until it was far too late. He threw his blanket back and stood, intending to wake Dale, then stopped as his gaze fell upon the ruined tower. A glow surrounded it and he could see faint, glistening forms floating in the air. He watched, entranced, as the ghostly forms drifted nearer, beckoning to him, then he slowly began walking toward them. The ghosts floated close to him, moving silently around him, then one reached out a transparent hand and touched him on the face. His eyes rolled back in his head and he swayed, then followed blindly as the ghosts led him to the ruined castle, and down deep into it's bowels.