Noctisardor Bypass sonnenschein

ciri soon arrived. mahler was happy to allow the silence to stretch. he had become more accustomed to it now. these months in rivenwood had felt somehow healing in a way, and he no longer felt the harshness of that old need: to fill a space with words.
these days often he thought of the sea, and of grimnismal — and of nyx, caught in the flux of his own muted and noncommittal ways.