Finally, Aldran chuckled, his voice slurred with haze.
"You've got the eyes of a storm, Jaenor. Trouble clings to you like barnacles."
Jaenor only exhaled another stream of smoke, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
When the night grew heavy, he rose at last, leaving Aldran sprawled among the mats.
The sea breeze met him at the threshold, sharp and cool after the smoke-filled hut.
With the tide whispering at his feet and the moon high above, Jaenor turned back toward the city—and home.
-
Jaenor staggered as he walked down the stone-paved street, the world swaying faintly around him.
The smoke from the sea-folk's den still clung to his chest, curling in his lungs, making each breath feel both heavy and strangely light at the same time.
His steps were uneven, but he did not care.
He had always returned from that place in this state—hazed, dazed, caught between waking and dream.
