The sound of the dark sea crushing against the plateau of the upside-down tree was oddly calming.
The moon still lingered high above. If Damon had to guess, it was in the exact same spot it had been when they first got here, although as his senses came to be, he couldn't remember when he sat at the edge of the plateau, let alone how much time had really passed.
His cheeks were now slightly sunken, his lips dried from dehydration. And as he took a close look around himself, he slowly began to notice that his fingers had gone stiff from the cold.
"How long have I been sitting here?" he tried to murmur to himself, but only raspy sounds escaped his mouth as he tried to speak. Clearly, it was long enough to make him lose his voice.
Damon, however, didn't focus on the raspy sound of his voice but instead dwelt on a different question. 'Where's Nyla?'
