(it's not as though voryn doesn't understand the human's reasoning behind hating the great tree, for if it had stolen something or someone from him, he would have burned it to the ground. this is why he believes, as the human retreats, that the loss must have been a person; no worldly object could milk this much venom from bared fangs.
opening a shaking hand, silco's knife sinks back into the soil, blade down. it narrowly misses his foot, finding his vision affected negatively by the ringing in his ears. no longer watched, no longer required to mask how exhausted the communion has made him, voryn stoops to pant hard into the elbow of his sleeve until it's wet with spittle before he can focus again on taking more measured breaths in his following assessment of ocelot. he should leave him. whatever mad state he was in before the stone's interference could be permanent, and travelling with him would simply put himself at risk. he should kill him.
but the man aided him, and to forsake that would be improper and impractical. allies will be indispensable, so his gratitude to ocelot will be demonstrated by not abandoning him here to his headwound.
dropping to a knee to force ocelot onto his front in the sphagnum with a rough squeeze at his shoulder, voryn thinks a final time of the knife and how simple a matter it would be to sink it into his throat. fingers settle instead along the pulse in his neck, checking his vitals briefly to ensure his condition isn't a fatal or disabling one. from there, after ocelot is grasped beneath his arms, voryn brings him to his feet and subsequently into a fireman's carry. it takes great effort to wind a man his height around him in a way that doesn't cripple their movement; he is exhausted. but his ambitions often remind him that there are plenty of worse things than pain and fatigue.
the great tree's roots are departed from. after some time, they make it past a steep section of hillocks on the path up through the roots, which winds voryn, causing him to rest more frequently until they've cut across the tree line. a state of flow is entered as he reaches his limit and muscles mentally past it, though thinner, cleaner air is sucked sharply through his teeth on the last few steps before the dark sky.
finally, he thinks, spotting the not-so-distant glow of populations. awe momentarily disrupts otherworldly focus, however, causing him to stagger. this jostles ocelot on his back, hard enough that voryn feels him finally stir.)
Wake now, for I cannot bear your weight any longer. Can you hear me, outlander?
no subject
opening a shaking hand, silco's knife sinks back into the soil, blade down. it narrowly misses his foot, finding his vision affected negatively by the ringing in his ears. no longer watched, no longer required to mask how exhausted the communion has made him, voryn stoops to pant hard into the elbow of his sleeve until it's wet with spittle before he can focus again on taking more measured breaths in his following assessment of ocelot. he should leave him. whatever mad state he was in before the stone's interference could be permanent, and travelling with him would simply put himself at risk. he should kill him.
but the man aided him, and to forsake that would be improper and impractical. allies will be indispensable, so his gratitude to ocelot will be demonstrated by not abandoning him here to his headwound.
dropping to a knee to force ocelot onto his front in the sphagnum with a rough squeeze at his shoulder, voryn thinks a final time of the knife and how simple a matter it would be to sink it into his throat. fingers settle instead along the pulse in his neck, checking his vitals briefly to ensure his condition isn't a fatal or disabling one. from there, after ocelot is grasped beneath his arms, voryn brings him to his feet and subsequently into a fireman's carry. it takes great effort to wind a man his height around him in a way that doesn't cripple their movement; he is exhausted. but his ambitions often remind him that there are plenty of worse things than pain and fatigue.
the great tree's roots are departed from. after some time, they make it past a steep section of hillocks on the path up through the roots, which winds voryn, causing him to rest more frequently until they've cut across the tree line. a state of flow is entered as he reaches his limit and muscles mentally past it, though thinner, cleaner air is sucked sharply through his teeth on the last few steps before the dark sky.
finally, he thinks, spotting the not-so-distant glow of populations. awe momentarily disrupts otherworldly focus, however, causing him to stagger. this jostles ocelot on his back, hard enough that voryn feels him finally stir.)
Wake now, for I cannot bear your weight any longer. Can you hear me, outlander?