Aroused from his slumber, he rushed to the shutters. Flinging them wide open, he popped out his head into the night air, his beard at once sailing off in flutters. Where had that noise come from? Surely he as too high up for mere arm-thrown projectiles? A specialty device must have been used. But who in the world wanted to speak to him so badly that they’d go through so much trouble? – Emily Kinney, author of The Island of Lote