The Coves

Ah, to be on soft sand again! I wouldn't have thought it, but after the clutching cold muck of the graveyard, a beach feels more than welcome. Perhaps it's merely the distance between me and the doomed souls among the ships or maybe it's just the change of scenery. It matters not, for journey and struggle await.

To the north I see a familiar rising wall of rock soaring far above my head. Spires of the same material jut from the sand all around me, looming as grotesque shapes. The spires seem as though formed by magic. It is hard to think of a natural process that could have created them. As I trudge eastward, in line with the water's edge, my path takes me underneath huge archways of rock that span the beach. Under their shadow, the air feels much colder, so I make as much haste as my tired legs allow.