Briannon lied on the cold dusty stones of the tomb, completely lost in half-life, while listening drops of water in distance, repeatedly reminding how her mouth are dry, as if someone filled her mouth and tongue with sand. She opens her eyes but sees nothing but darkness, relived that wights have left to to die in slow pain she smiles, tightly grabbing her belongings to her chest, shivering.
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Folke.
