update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/marsh/004.html

@@ -283,7 +283,7 @@ Something about the ephemerality of the sand and the permanence of the tile spea
 <p>Cress&rsquo;s expression fell, and it wrapped its arms around her. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, I didn&rsquo;t know&hellip;&rdquo;</p>
 <p>&ldquo;I did not say,&rdquo; Dry Grass said, shrugging. &ldquo;We will talk later, my love. More of me remain at home, too.&rdquo;</p>
 <p>We all took turns ensuring that she got a hug from each of us, then stepped away, this time to the pagoda that I had discovered earlier that day before sleeping.</p>
-<p>As we stepped into that foggy morning — the same foggy morning, I realized; the sim must not have much of a day cycle — </p>
+<p>As we stepped into that foggy morning on the close-shorn grass, the sound of a clanking bell or two from the direction of the sheep, we all let out a pent-up breath together. I wasn&rsquo;t quite sure what the breath represented for each of us. Even in myself, I couldn&rsquo;t tell if it was a sigh of resignation, of exhaustion, or of the simple sensation of being just by ourselves again, just those of our clade. </p>
 <p>(Reed&rsquo;s pagoda - more conversation among the stanzas now)</p>
 <p>((After Dry Grass leaves, Reed goes to talk with Lily))</p>
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