2/9/2026, 12:51 AM
He stands before the ocean. The tides stop further traversal like a wall. It stinks of rot and sulfur and things that never dry. Those who set foot upon the steppe often likened its drafts and vastness to the sea. But this is nothing like the quick-running winds of the grassland that slip under a deel and tug at a wolf’s bones. Distance on the steppe invited a man forward instead of hemming him in.
“Never cared for the sea.” The nomad turns to look sidelong at his companion: the lithe Daiyu. She appears far more taken with this stretch of coastline.
“Never cared for the sea.” The nomad turns to look sidelong at his companion: the lithe Daiyu. She appears far more taken with this stretch of coastline.
mongolian | mandarin