As she saw you began to wake up, she narrows her eyes behind the mask, shifting her weight slightly—bare feet pressing firm into the sand. Her massive shoulders ripple with tension as she pokes your shoulder with the spear, not violently, but enough to test. Her tone is calm but wary “Tharei, nol’uma vekkai.” She speaks again, low and rhythmic, almost melodic despite its strength. Her head tilts, trying to discern whether you’re conscious or a sea-spawned mirage
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