ππππ ππππππ’ πππππππ ππ:@audaciousConfident The ship crashed. And your companions were nowhere in sight. They might have been pulled off of it at one of the earlier stops. That is all you could hope for, at least. The alternative means they died on impact most likely. Because why would the three of you ever share so much luck? It was so dark in there, it was so dark and once the voice of your dearest friend was replaced by the silence of solitude, the only thing you had for comfort was Sleuth. Sweet Sleuth tucked up and curled tightly into your shirt into the crease of your neck. The tiny breaths, the thudding of his heart against your skin, were enough to keep you focused on the task at hand. Survival. Your personal mantra: If I die, Sleuth dies, carried you out of the impact zone of the cargo ship, you are covered in your own blood but the cold air seemed to have slowed that down. So there you lay, in the harsh Alternian tundra, ice and snow for miles, fashioning a tourniquet out of supplies dug out from the ship that meant to take you to your doom. I feel a kinship πΌπππππ’ πππ
AND Y-O-O-U KN-O-O-W WHAT? I LIVED BITCH!