The Tangle If you must die, remember your life

“Nothing,” he piped, nigh close to fleeing,
as if he'd been saying it every afternoon of his life. 

He doesn't feel like Wylla would care for his blame on Sagtannet for his grievances so far, nor would he like to have do an impromptu show of submission when he broke ranks in his tongue lashing. The clay notices the absence of an eye — and entire eye. Left he believed, just like his. Were his injuries mirrored in hers also? Of course not. Right?

“Are we really gonna fight the people on — near the water?,” he may have been overly brazen and killed a man much to his dismay, but that didn't mean the battlefield was where he meant to surely find his end. “Is peace...?”

Soon his question is cut short by the scent of saltbrine and wetlicked stones on the wind. Turning his gaze fully from Vylla Wylla to snap his head towards shivering fronds. Suddenly their were weights in his loins and chest, again. Astraeus turns to the woman for the first time in his life, eyes pleading for help or direction.