I’d not noticed. The streets remind me of a Starkhaven summer.

( The tug of war between low spirits overall and genuine delight at speaking with Sabine after so long is complex. )

Two days past, I think. Time becomes ill-defined when kept to the Infirmary.

( Her sigh is... tired? Frustrated? Bored? )

I remember it tasting like bad eggs, at times, in those wastes. And grit between your teeth, even when your mouth is covered over.

( Her tone is pensive, moreso than the quiet scorn that might be anticipated in their banter. )

What takes your there?