Wapun Meadow victorian writer 2 steps away from dying of brain fever

It was a lot to take in; he didn't blame her for struggling for words. Actually, she handled it quite well with the response she eventually gave, although the follow-up question was a head-scratcher (hadn't he answered that already?). Still, he let his shoulders fall slightly in some relief, glad that she felt, at least in some measure, the same way. They both missed the sea. And thus, they'd return. He'd make it happen.

It's not gonna be easy, Verx muttered, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. If I fail, I'll have to run for the hills for a little while--and that's if I don't just fucking die, you know, get ripped apart by these assholes. But I have to try, at least. Aure, I've gotta try. It wasn't fair, what they did. We belong there.

He swallowed, unable to meet her gaze. He knew she'd be upset with his frankness, his acceptance of a potential demise. He'd always been that way; death had just been a checkpoint ahead, something mundane, not anything to fear. Everyone died eventually; he'd rather go this way than die from some sickness.

Win or lose, if I get out of this alive, I'll come back for you guys, he promised, looking toward the west. That's a guarantee.