Ankyra Sound if home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked

He hardly moves in the wake of his half-hearted attack, dimly aware of sobbing, contact — and while there is no thought left in him, somewhere in the haze his heart aches for the source of the miserable sounding. He presses closer, limbs tightening against the figure as if to embrace him, and goes still. Everything is a blur after that; he doesn't know how long he stays curled against the nameless form, or what happens between that and his next memory —

But quite suddenly, he blinks and he's alone, far from the coast and lost in a choking fog.