You know, to home, Yorg?
Laying in the grass in this world wasn't the same. People weren't the same. He missed his stars. His stories. The stories of epic battles that had happened in the past. Of the teasing that went on with Yorg and the warmth of crackling fires by the roadside. Of caravans pulled by horses and taverns filled with candlelight and merriment.
This world is so empty of all that he loved... it was hard to imagine that he was still living at all. Still breathing.
"Yorg..." it came from him like a soft murmur. "Why are we still here...?"