Dragoncrest Cliffs birth me from your bones again

In a whirlwind of events, the smoking Dragon faded behind them and soon seasalt started to clear his sinuses and throat -- and it's never been more a welcome scent. A while spent watching the commander guide their path and a steady, affirmed understanding creeps on him. This was why she'd gone, and where she'd traveled to. He didn't have all of the pieces to put together before, but now, it's far more clear to him.

The wocha usually traveled with Portia, helping her keep the weight off her injury however he can. Occasionally in the brief moments he does part immediately from her and leaves her with Hush, he fans out to scope their defense along the way. Most of all, he just wants to see them covering ground quickly so they can reach a new sanctuary, wherever that may be exactly. Here in some of the longest nights of the entire year, the last thing they need is unnecessarily extended homelessness. Their strength is nothing to question, it's not that which worried him. They are missing a handful and he knows they all deserve far better than vagabonding right now.

Eventually when they reach a woodlot, he can feel a bit better, or maybe by now it's fatigue having stacked. Either way, he makes quick work of an initial survey, touches brief base with Heda, frets over Portia while Chessur tended her, and finds he had to adjust to the sea's nearness again. There's a creeping deja vu he has to pointedly ignore, too. It's just something else to deal with after some rest.. if he can manage any at all.

He settled in beside Portia, attempting to doze until he'd trade out for his first round of guard. A few blinks were all he realistically hoped for.