[Ryslig. It sounds -- he doesn't know. Scandinavian? He tries to picture maps from his school days. The soft river blues, the grey city centers. It wouldn't be out of the question that he was knocked out and thrown in the ocean a couple of towns over. Maybe Ryslig is one of those small, forgotten villages just a little while up the shore. It would explain why he hasn't heard about it.
Then he notices her wings. Her more ... monstrous qualities.
He crawls backwards, his knees drawing lines in the sand. His heart pounds in his throat, rolling up and down his esophagus like the tide ebbing behind him.]
W-What is --
[The words barely come out. They're made of breaths -- not syllables. He tries again.]
no subject
Then he notices her wings. Her more ... monstrous qualities.
He crawls backwards, his knees drawing lines in the sand. His heart pounds in his throat, rolling up and down his esophagus like the tide ebbing behind him.]
W-What is --
[The words barely come out. They're made of breaths -- not syllables. He tries again.]
Is this hell?