[The plains are rainswept and glistening. Here and there, the white prongs of opened ribcages and skeletons of things long-dead bristle from the buff-colored grass. Dead trees jut from the ground in spiky lines of black. Crushed machinery, ancient as the bleached-white bones, glistens in the grass like crushed handfuls of powdered glass. Orange lichen swarms up the cliff-sides, occasionally bunching into bushes and canopies.]
[In the center of it all, the Drifter is crouched beside someone. They lie there, very still, bleeding. It's possible that, if you've encountered them in LifeAftr, you might recognize them as the Guardian.]
[The Drifter hunches there for an indeterminate amount of time before, finally, they gently reach forward and roll the Guardian's corpse over, easing their thick pink cloak off their shoulders. The soft ruff of cream-colored fur at its collar has been dampened and shrunken by the rain, but the Drifter still pulls the garment awkwardly around themself, clutching it shut at the front. It is only slightly too big for them.]
[They do not, of course, say anything. What is there to say to the dead?]
[They simply stand there over an unmoving corpse in silent mourning. The rain continues to trickle down. The sky is still gray and silent. The hills are as bereft of life as ever.]
c ; every calling cost made to your heart
[In the center of it all, the Drifter is crouched beside someone. They lie there, very still, bleeding. It's possible that, if you've encountered them in LifeAftr, you might recognize them as the Guardian.]
[The Drifter hunches there for an indeterminate amount of time before, finally, they gently reach forward and roll the Guardian's corpse over, easing their thick pink cloak off their shoulders. The soft ruff of cream-colored fur at its collar has been dampened and shrunken by the rain, but the Drifter still pulls the garment awkwardly around themself, clutching it shut at the front. It is only slightly too big for them.]
[They do not, of course, say anything. What is there to say to the dead?]
[They simply stand there over an unmoving corpse in silent mourning. The rain continues to trickle down. The sky is still gray and silent. The hills are as bereft of life as ever.]
[Now, even more so.]