Atha knew deep down, and yet she hadn't been able to stop herself from hoping. Just to have that hope crushed as they arrive at the cave, she should honestly be familiar with this sensation now. Or what she thinks is a sensation, the cave, Aragibal, the mother are so dim and distant.

Aragibal is talking, or at least she thinks he might be, but it's white noise to her. Had her mother looked that small? What had her mother looked like? Was their house cold, grey stone, or warm, red stone? Atha feels sudden wetness on her skin, cold steel in her hands, vibrations shocking through her arms even as she continues to be apart, a strange lack of connection.

Time has passed? She thinks it might have done as noise rushes back into her ears, the scent of turned earth suddenly fills her nose, her arms and shoulders sore and heavy like she'd been swinging an axe for hours. Blinking, Atha is suddenly aware of how much darker it is, and that she's covered in dirt. Why was she standing in a hole? She sways on her feet as she stares ahead in blank confusion.

"Wha-?" She'd dug a grave. With her axe. Why couldn't she remember it?