At Kit's prompting, Sina squeezes Myr's hand, then releases it. Though it's unfortunate circumstance that has made her so lightweight, it means the crates are easy for her to traverse; she climbs them carefully, pausing only to cover her nose and mouth with a gasp of dismay. The odor up here is so much more pungent, drifting out the window with such power that it makes her eyes water-- she loops her shawl around the lower half of her face, hoping it will help even temporarily.

One of the benefits of Sina going first is that she inadvertently lights the way, her shard glowing even beneath the layers of fabric draped over it. As she peers into the room, she can make out sluggish movement, the harsh green glow illuminating large blinking eyes set in faces so thin as to be skeletal. And so small.

"Da'lenin," she chokes, the word nearly a sob as she slips through into the room.