Thank you so much, Reviewers.
I should have posted this a long time ago. Please don't kill me.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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I come back, and I am tired.

Did I look long? I can't tell anymore.

Did I look long enough?

Can I ever?

Is it still the same--what waking is it? I can't remember.

When did I last write it? I look.

Thirty-Seven. That was my last number. Is it still the thirty-seventh waking?

Think, blast you...

I am troubled, that is all, and troubling makes the time go slower.

But I argue with myself: it feels like there must be at least a day and a half gone past by now.

But maybe Greys has not been gone very long at all, and it has only felt long. Because of being troubled and nervous.

But the fire. Look at the fire. It is long dead. The embers dim and extinguish themselves.

But how long could it take a fire to die? Especially in this hell-hole.

Thunder... Lightning and Thunder! Haley! Give me back my other friend! Our other friend! I tried to save you! I tried to...

I tried to... I tried...

Blast me, curse me to death in the muds, I can't stop thinking. I can't stop. I...

Ah, I bend my leg. It crunches itself. Other thoughts for me: pain. It blots out thoughts of poison and fear.

I climbed.

I looked. I moved and I looked.

I couldn't go far. I couldn't. I dared not. Not far enough to lose myself. And it hurt.

The mist and cloud and fog. The Rocks. The Thunder.

They made it dizzying, frightening. It is all frightening. Even with nothing to be afraid of. Frightening. But I studied the Rocks. I felt them. I went by them. Again and again. Different paths. And I always came back to my rucksack, my blanket. Dhalan's cutlass.

The blade gives the faintest of glimmers, the sickly light piercing the dead mist as the blade itself was made to pierce flesh. It made sure I came back, every time.

But did I go far enough? Did I look hard enough? Did I scream loud enough?

So many questions. All in the past. Could-haves and should-haves and Rocks.

The Rocks helped me. They showed me the ways.

In the Mud there were no ways. But the Rocks make the land into shapes that we can see and feel and recognize.

I should be grateful for the Rocks, as I was at first.

But Greys is still not here.

And I have stayed.

I have stayed and waited.

I have stayed and thought.

I have stayed and written.

And I have moved.

I have moved and looked, as far as I dared.

And there is nothing else to do.

There is nothing else I can do.

My leg. It aches. It stabs and throbs.

I can do no more.

I will stay again, and wait.

I will make you leave me alone. And I will leave you alone.

I said I have written.

There is no more to write about.

So for now, I stop.

If there is more, then I will write in you again.

But for now, I lay you aside.

And so I will stay

and wait.

Moons watch over us. Bring Greys back.

My mantra

Dear family, in case I die, finish my story. I love you.

Alexandro