Lying atop a massive ogre, floating in the endless expanse of the Grey Sea, Llarm stirred.
His eyes snapped open, and panic bloomed instantly. The world around him was an eerie haze of blur and dull waves. The water beneath the ogre sloshed faintly, the scent of salt clinging to every breath. Barking echoed nearby, warped and muted, like it came from underwater. Llarm's mind felt thick, like it was moving through tar. He couldn't think. Could barely breathe.
His soaked blonde hair clung to his face in sticky strands, obscuring his vision. The first thought that stabbed through the fog was frantic:
'Where's Caelgorr?!'
His heart kicked into overdrive, and his limbs tensed—but then he realized he wasn't lying on solid ground. He was slung over someone's shoulder. A broad, muscular, and green shoulder.
He tilted his head slowly, and saw the white fabric of a shirt and the ridged terrain of Bruma's enormous back.
