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    “I mean it, Sarentu, you...” His eyes had narrowed, and his tail had thrashed, ears fluttering. He held her gaze. “Your soul is like the ocean, Tamtey, deep, endless—always moving.”  

    He had paused, and she stared, questioning him.  

    “Recently, there are storms and great depths,” he swallowed, “I worry it will drown you.”

    Or, Tamtey struggles after the Mangkwang, old wounds reopen and she finds herself drowning in the tide of it.

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    08 Feb 2026