Sleeping Dragon there should be stars for great wars like ours

Across his face a tongue had ran several times, but none earned the giver any silence. He'd cried through it the entire time, offering no relief to the ears of those around him—the ones that could hear, anyways. The more he cried, though, the worst his stomach seemed to feel. Yet he couldn't stop himself from crying, because the worst that got, the more he wailed. It was a vicious cycle, and with an ending that was unclear. To add onto it, his lungs and throat had each started to grow a bit sore, having not been used to such loud noises leaving him, and especially not for extended periods of time. Which, of course, made him cry until his voice sounded strained, as new forms of irritations filled his body.