Diarmad felt oddly out of perspective. With no reference point to determine his position in the room, it felt as if he were floating. Was he lying down? Sitting?
When his sense of smell came back, he recoiled. Moldy, musty, mixed with something more obnoxious. Sweetish...nauseous.... Rotten flesh!
Saliva pooled in his mouth, and he gagged. No! Breathing in through his mouth slowly, out-in-out did the trick, and the nausea subsided.
Turning his head back and forth, he was now desperat