( speaking of hair— there’s little he can do to achieve any level of dryness, in that respect. he takes the time to wring it out himself, with only some under-the-breath grumbling. the paws get another round of shaking, too, though they’re also immediately caked with sand. the beach is quickly losing its novelty after that little excursion; no bar, no drinks could possibly be worth this kind of trial. )

If the storms didn’t get you, the ice would. As the home of a greatbeast, I suppose that’s just how she prefers it.

( with the power of auto-translation, there’s no change in the understanding when he says that word; despite that, it was clearly said in a different language that what he’s otherwise speaking. #lore drop for… the person who also knows the lore…

well, anyway. )

Even if there was life in here, none of it would be real. Isn’t it better they didn’t bother to pretend?