[It says something about the exhausting nature of the Crossing that Celehar doesn't startle in surprise at the glimpse of moving bone out of the corner of his eye. He is simply too tired for the reflex to kick in the way it normally would, the corners of his eyes slightly reddened from rubbing at them, and then further irritated by the need to wipe the rain away from them, once the storm closed in around them once more.]
Predict flowers?
[What an odd name. Celehar glances around them at the orange blooms, searching, maybe in vain, for a patch of ground that isn't mostly mud. The last stretch of wading onto land has lost all hope in him for his coat's survival - finally, as the rain finishes pelting down, he takes off the black outer robe to leave himself in his shirtsleeves, draping it over one arm as he pauses near the unnamed skeleton, following his turned head towards the closest bloom.]
[Clearing skies]
Predict flowers?
[What an odd name. Celehar glances around them at the orange blooms, searching, maybe in vain, for a patch of ground that isn't mostly mud. The last stretch of wading onto land has lost all hope in him for his coat's survival - finally, as the rain finishes pelting down, he takes off the black outer robe to leave himself in his shirtsleeves, draping it over one arm as he pauses near the unnamed skeleton, following his turned head towards the closest bloom.]