Noah
we follow our own steps
while our shadows keeps watching us
while our shadows keeps watching us
His cheek was still pressed to the marble, his body throbbing with each shallow breath. His fingers, white-knuckled and shaking, remained knotted in Maea’s dress even as the fountain’s waters began to glow faintly against his skin, against the delicate translucence of the ancient in his grasp.
The sound came soft. A cough, then the delicate splash of limbs shifting in the water. Noah’s eyelashes fluttered open, his vision swaying, blurred by pain and exhaustion. But the touch of the fountain had broght him enough relief from the compass' affects to move. He climbed up from his kees and got himself into a sitting position on the side of the fountain, and he pulled Maea gently toward him, resting her against his leg. Her chest rose more steadily, her head turning. Relief slammed into him so hard it left him breathless, the pain in his ribs nearly buckling him all over again.
"Maea,” he croaked, voice raw, the single word breaking under the weight of everything behind it—fear, rage, grief, and the impossible swell of relief. His chest constricted. He should have corrected her immediately, should have shaken her gently back into the present, but instead he swallowed against the ache rising in his throat, forcing down the lump. He bowed his head, forehead pressing to the top of her head, trying to steady himself against the crashing tide of his own emotions. “You’re safe,” he whispered, voice steadier now though his body quaked, "and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you."
He just needed her to live. He knew that the fountain would do its work, but damnit if he still didn't try to pull on the thread of magic that was but a whisper of a memory within him now.
The sound came soft. A cough, then the delicate splash of limbs shifting in the water. Noah’s eyelashes fluttered open, his vision swaying, blurred by pain and exhaustion. But the touch of the fountain had broght him enough relief from the compass' affects to move. He climbed up from his kees and got himself into a sitting position on the side of the fountain, and he pulled Maea gently toward him, resting her against his leg. Her chest rose more steadily, her head turning. Relief slammed into him so hard it left him breathless, the pain in his ribs nearly buckling him all over again.
"Maea,” he croaked, voice raw, the single word breaking under the weight of everything behind it—fear, rage, grief, and the impossible swell of relief. His chest constricted. He should have corrected her immediately, should have shaken her gently back into the present, but instead he swallowed against the ache rising in his throat, forcing down the lump. He bowed his head, forehead pressing to the top of her head, trying to steady himself against the crashing tide of his own emotions. “You’re safe,” he whispered, voice steadier now though his body quaked, "and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you."
He just needed her to live. He knew that the fountain would do its work, but damnit if he still didn't try to pull on the thread of magic that was but a whisper of a memory within him now.
the wrong steps
would be not to start this exodus.
would be not to start this exodus.
