Seaside Moors only Hell is grey

Miles came before them, and went underfoot one after the next. He can't say how long it's been or how much further they have to go, but more and more, he has to wonder what awaits and in how long. It's all unfamiliar ground to him, yet in the company of Ksenia and the sea, he presses on, determined to see this culminate.

He senses a shift in gears before she formally declares this their place to rest. Already he's taking it in, nostrils flaring and eyes sharp. It might not be the most ideal, but they are already adept at making do -- especially as a trio now, unexpectedly. He'll take it.

Next he moves to greedily slake his burning thirst, even happy enough for the cold sting it leaves down his throat. Eventually he pulls into the creek deeper, letting the cold run over his worn paws with a sharp sigh. Jaglon only lifts his muzzle long enough to speak. "Are we getting close?" he asks her as she moves away from the water, following her with his eyes as he continues his drink.