Moss stands at the prow of the Antarctic ship, hands gripping the rail, as the militia watch from the shore.Moss stands at the rail, gripping it tightly, as the wind catches his lightened face and the city lies small and quiet below.Sūrya and Moss stand at the ship's prow, the harbor and the militia on the beach fading into the distance behind them.Moss stands on the prow rail, silhouetted against the warm sky, his voice rough with creole, the Twelve Antarctikans crouched back on the deck.Moss stands in the wet sand, amber eyes catching the dawn light, as Kael steps closer, the space between them filled with unspoken words.Moss grips the *Ananta*'s railing, his amber-streaked eyes fixed on the distant green hill, the ocean vast behind him.Moss stands at the rail, wind tousling his hair, while Sūrya's hand drops, her eyes wide with emotion, the warm Continental coast behind them.Dessa stands on the shore, her gaze sharp as she surveys the tense militia and the chaotic harbor.Moss strides down the gangway, his modified form distinct, while twelve Antarctikans stand in formation on the foredeck, the warm wind stirring the dark sand.
