[ Rhy isn't sure what to say to that. He doesn't feel like shouting about how awful it is to look at these corpses washing up on the oily shore, the black ichor that drenches the sand, how cold it is even when he tries to manifest himself a warmer cloak or how nothing comes out right. He's walked for hours, and nothing changes. The black coast continues, endlessly.
Instead, after a moment, Rhy raises his voice again into the wind. ]
no subject
Instead, after a moment, Rhy raises his voice again into the wind. ]
Who are you?