Redsand Canyon a half that’s living to destroy

praimfaya draws in a breath of the early morning air; cooler today in the stead of the persistent soupy heat that has befallen the wilds since the constant deluge of rain has begun. the sands of the canyon have a constant damp smell, as does the redrock that cage the saints in. at times, it becomes too suffocating to the commander, the grit of the sand wedged deep inbetween her toes, clinging to her pelage as if she were living on the coast absent the sea. she remembers, vaguely, mentioning to illidan that she likes the coast and finds that she misses it with a pang of nostalgia that belongs to one of the spirits of the commanders.

which one, she couldn't say for sure; for this commander is hazy and there is never a voice, face or name associated with them.

praimfaya shifts out from the rock ledge she's taken shelter under as the rains lessen and blinks frostbound gaze skyward; frowning. she feels claustrophobic without the sugary moonbeams, without the neverending smattering of stars winking from the velveteen colors of night and early dawn. instead, all she sees now is the oppressive and swallowing swathes of grey clouds. wistful; she yearns for the rains to cease and for the sky to open back up once more.