Barrow Fields Vedrai, vedrai!

A man walked to him through the viscous haze, his silhouette tapered and thin. He got up to his knees, squinting. His hands shook almost imperceptibly.

Good morning, he muttered, trying to hide his previous panic. Though I'm not so sure if it is blessed.

It was a strange choice of words, but in that moment Pier did not have the mental clarity to suspect much of anything at all. Blood rushed in his ears; if he closed his eyes, he could still recall the smell of home - tired, vicious men and their jejune wives.