Moonspear fulthark

The feeling of alienation was ever-present for Larus. To say he felt at-home here or otherwise was wrong; he felt the same, regardless. He could no sooner recognize food from debris, or sanctuary from danger, but he hoped - in the vague way that the elderly hoped - to find his way somewhere. Did he belong here? By the way the other man questioned him, he did not. A heavy sigh drew in and out of him, and for a transitory moment there was a glimmer in Larus' gaze almost like certainty. It died on the exhale.

I don't, but I don't know.. anything. Not anymore. The words were like a river spilling from his mouth. He felt like he was drowning in indecision, and if he spoke too much he would aspirate upon a voice he did not recognize. At least the words made sense to someone.

With a lurch he got to his feet again, lunging, using one of the nearby tree stumps to balance for a moment, and swept his lowered head to and fro as if to discern a path; there was none, at least nothing obvious. Roots and decaying foliage, bits of new growth, the ferns — everything one would expect from a forested hill or any other rock-hewn ridge. It all looked new to Larus, though. His eyes widened as he watched a few of the exposed stones, perhaps confusing them with eggs.

He nosed at them and listened as they rolled. Then, somberly, took notice of the dark man again — as if he had just arrived — and watched him owlishly. Was I sleeping? He asks lethargically. Do you know me? He follows up, but then his lids droop, and he looks bashful and sad and concerned, all at once: I lost her. We were on the mountain, and I looked — but she wasn't there. Here. She isn't here. So jumbled; all of it, every thought, such a mess.