[ he makes room, tail shifting to settle over claude's legs. ]

... We've lost so many already. [ ... ] There seems to be no solution other than waiting, week after week. Waking up to those dead is one thing, but sentencing still more to the metaphorical gallows is starting to wear all of us out.

Morale is starting to look like a cove washed out by the sea. Empty, hollow. Eroded by time. [ ... ] And it gets worse every week.