Cait can feel the tomb of earth crawling up her legs, binding her in place, encasing her. The air takes on a charnel smell, and breathing is like inhaling smoke, and it burns the eyes.
The fires lick along Din's arms and the side of his face, and voices call from all sides, screams, promises, temptations, trying to get just one moment of distraction, one wrong word or syllable from either of them while the world descends into chaos.
//grah'n hafh'drn, hupadgh'la'nafh - Oh lost priest, oh he born of dreams.//
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