Luneshale Pass looks like there's no more room in hell for me

He descends and the only sense that magnifies is sound. She can hear every grain of sand pooling beneath his steps, the grit of teeth against itself as he speaks.  Her throat runs dry, absorbed by a reverse of energy.

She perseveres the last of herself, raising her head high over her shoulders to inform him:

“You will regret it.”

Her eyes flick past the stride of his legs, looking for a place to run.