scraph

What did you think was going to happen?

You thought you were going to die.

...you probably will still, but not, like, immediately.

count the sand

There is more sand in your mouth than there should be. There is more sand in your nose than there should be. There is more sand in your everything than there should be.

> Eat the delicious sand.

Sand, as it turns out, tastes of regret. Slightly salty, bitter regret. The best kind of regret.

Dig in!

You do not want to be in the sand any more than you want the sand to be in you.


You are lying almost face-down, your chin settled awkwardly on the sand, with your arms splayed back and your legs off doing their own thing somewhere in the far distance. You are snorting and spluttering and trying to cough up your tongue. You are in no fit state to be leaping about exuberantly - at least, not yet. You are going to have to stand up at some point, though. You're not looking forward to that.

...

You spit out some more sand.

It may have worked, but did it work correctly?

You drag your arms back towards your torso and prop yourself up on them like a sea lion. You make for a really shit sea lion, but at least this pose lets you look around a little. If, and it's a damn big if, everything worked out perfectly, it shouldn't have ma-

Oh. It just landed over there. Okay.

...

That's honestly not as bad as it could have been. You have the vague feeling you shouldn't be staring directly at it, mind. You definitely shouldn't be coughing sand in its general direction.

...

You keep staring at it.

north

And now your head hurts.

go north

Your head really hurts.

head northwards

What started as a gentle throb near the back of your skull has hacked its way forward and is now ramming needles through your forehead.

NORTH... NORTH... NORTH...

Something isn't right.

walk northways

You need to stand up.