Lena
// what is to give light must endure burning //
His own panicked state, something she’d never truly seen, had her eyes widening and heart pounding; rabbit-like in her chest, rapid and fleeting, nearly exhausting with the weight of it. Mittens and Sol’s return with nothing more than casual shrugs and the unknown weren’t exactly what she had in mind, but she breathed deeply, tenderly wrapping her fingers around his to assuage and alleviate whatever more had burdened – unaware that there was far more to come.
And then she was quiet again, settled into the boundaries, listening, absorbing, the harrowing tale. What should’ve been triumph and victory sounded as though it’d bellowed and billowed out into disastrous misfortunes, comprised and composed in impulsive, rash decisions, and her eyes flickered downward, staring at the rug as she tried to form and imagine the rush of onslaughts.
Sohalia hit. Escaping. Stopping portions from hitting Alys. Him rushing into attack and distract – ever the heroic plunge with little thought to his own state –
She could make sense of that. That’s how he’d been so injured, caught up in Halo for days while he mended. What she didn’t, couldn’t, have envisioned were the portions and pieces of scars shown, and her mender gaze went over them sharply, rapidly, fingers and eyes following the lines of puckered skin with a touch that would’ve been nothing more than air. “What-,” she uttered at first, because she couldn’t see how deeply the wounds had gone, but she'd known enough from so many others, how it had torn and bled and –
He wouldn’t have survived something like that.
She caught a sharp inhale through her lungs and willed herself to not panic, but her digits were already shaking and he was real and whole in front of her, so…the confusion tumbled out of her instead, wrecked across her features with the bewilderment and trepidation. ”But you’re here…how?”
And then she was quiet again, settled into the boundaries, listening, absorbing, the harrowing tale. What should’ve been triumph and victory sounded as though it’d bellowed and billowed out into disastrous misfortunes, comprised and composed in impulsive, rash decisions, and her eyes flickered downward, staring at the rug as she tried to form and imagine the rush of onslaughts.
Sohalia hit. Escaping. Stopping portions from hitting Alys. Him rushing into attack and distract – ever the heroic plunge with little thought to his own state –
She could make sense of that. That’s how he’d been so injured, caught up in Halo for days while he mended. What she didn’t, couldn’t, have envisioned were the portions and pieces of scars shown, and her mender gaze went over them sharply, rapidly, fingers and eyes following the lines of puckered skin with a touch that would’ve been nothing more than air. “What-,” she uttered at first, because she couldn’t see how deeply the wounds had gone, but she'd known enough from so many others, how it had torn and bled and –
He wouldn’t have survived something like that.
She caught a sharp inhale through her lungs and willed herself to not panic, but her digits were already shaking and he was real and whole in front of her, so…the confusion tumbled out of her instead, wrecked across her features with the bewilderment and trepidation. ”But you’re here…how?”
