(the hand that touches him draws out his willpower like venom. all at once, voryn grasps reality from where he's adrift in sensation and feels himself reorient. his rich outermost layer is shed with a jerk of limbs, then thrust at ocelot while he speaks to silco. this leaves him in a long black shift, bound tightly around the middle by patterned sashes that keep his white inner dress concealed.

it is both his gratitude and his way into this conversation now that he's of sound enough mind to actively participate.)

Come, take this, (voryn says. then red eyes bear down with ocelot's on silco.)

The dryad is dead, but do you not care for ancient things? The groups who wounded the tree should take responsibility for the collateral, but I can't imagine any of that matters to you. (they appear to be men and men lead short lives. tolerant, he offers his own perspective after silco is questioned.) I believe it needs to die and that it's seeking peace before it does. It may impart knowledge of this place. It is... tempting... to open my mind to it.

(voryn looks at both of them through occasionally heavy blinks at the tree's scorching communion.)

As we've lingered here overlong together, we are now our own faction. If we hesitate with a decision, the atmosphere will kill us.