Ankyra Sound thinking of my hometown

drawn once more from the protective walls of the grotto, emerging from the underground like some kind of recently awoken mummy, he glares at the sun. his conception of night and day twists and cycles oddly to scarab the more time he spends beneath the ground. in the grotto, it is always night. it takes him a moment to realize that he is not alone in the sound and for a moment hesitates between the want to chase her away for the sound is his his his ...and the want to speak to someone that isn't the ghosts that haunt the grotto. to speak to someone that isn't the dread father. a half beat later and before his decision can be made in full he lets out a chuff to garner his attention. this is his turf. this is his his his —

his

lonely, desolate. a land embodiment of him.

despite the inner war raging within scarab, he keeps his body posture neutral not yet sure how he will perceive the stranger's presence upon his sound.