Dacian's world wasn't the only thing that kept changing. His body did too. Maybe he might not have noticed it so much, if it weren't for on shift in particular; his eye color. The darker, rustier they turned the more they reminded him of what he'd lost. Each time he saw his reflection, he just saw his mother's eyes staring back at him.
There was something else as well, but from what Aunt Clover had told them, he figured it to be from the smoke. His breathing was becoming noisier, day by day, and his voice was growing raspier, like his throat had changed from smooth to rough. Even in his sleep he could be heard, a softy but steady wheezing.
He set out for water without caring who was or wasn't keeping tabs. They couldn't hold him hostage no matter how bad the air was.