Ankyra Sound shovels & keys

distracted by his own misfortune and trying to piece together how he had slipped and fallen ... and how he'd survived while the sea had carried him here, velaryon does not immediately notice the flame kissed woman's approach.

he starts mid-trying to tug free the seaweed and ensure that nothing on him was broken, head turning in her direction with a quick, militaristic snap.

for a moment, he stares before he lets out a laugh at her telling him he looks like hell. it promptly leads to another coughing fit that expels more saltwater from his stomach.

a half pained, half annoyed noise is made deep in his throat; and tries to decide if the sea had ferried him to the underworld or if it had kept him as alive as it could while it pushed and pulled him like a ragdoll before tossing him onto this sound.

she asks next if he wants help and while the cairn was a inherently proud beast, he knew he was in no state to allow pride in. some help would be appreciated, he speaks, cringing at the sound of his voice: deep timber usually whiskey steeped in smoke now raw and rasping.

but he soldiers on.

where —, a small cough; the knowledge that he would need to find non-salt water making its presence known as rationality slowly comes back to him. where'd the sea spit me up at? because nothing about this place looks familiar.