(( Warren/Leksa, human form. This takes place a few years in the past. ))
How long ago had it been that Leksa had fled the Fe'gan Mountains to the northeast? He'd lost track of time seemingly ages ago. Hours? Years? They all melded into one long, endless sense of time stopping and then going again for him, the movements of the desert villagers coming to a gradual halt before speeding up to such a rate he couldn't follow with his eyes.
And when was the last time he'd slept?
Peering around the small village of sand buildings and canopies, Leksa wandered towards the small house he'd been staying in, courtesy of one of the people that had found him blearily stumbling through the vast sands earlier that day. Now that the sun was no longer searing through his face and cooking the rest of him in the numerous layers he'd since then shed off, he was... a little more than exhausted.
He ducked down, nudging the beaded entry open enough for him to shuffle his way inside, limping to the bedroll that had been laid out for him. Next to which were his cold-weather clothes and weapons. But he didn't make it all the way onto the bedroll before he lost awareness of his surroundings, darkness blanketing him with a comforting coolness. And the sound of water lapping at a shoreline.