Professor Lincoln wasn't at camp today and in his absence they always went after each other. They had not liked each other from the moment they had met. A week in the cramped quarters of the base camp had not helped their temperaments at all. Any professional courtesy had quickly withered until only venomous disagreement remained. All common ground was lost.
"The inscription clearly calls this chest the Pyxis of Union!" Sigurd said with derision. Donna sighed heavily and flipped several pages in her notebook. She read from her notes and glared back at Sigurd.
"The rune for death and transfiguration is clearly displayed at several key points on the chest. It is the Pyxis of Death!"