When Ezra neared Renaud, the officer's first instinct was to regain the former distance that had separated them. However, before he could leap back, Ezra's hand was upon his cheek. He should've felt it, but ... he couldn't. His brow furrowed as he reached up and took Ezra's hand and, if allowed, moved it off of his face, holding it for just a moment before letting it go and taking a step backward. For the brief seconds that Renaud had held Ezra's hand, he had been only distantly aware of the warmth in it that embodied all living creatures. But the details - the creases of his palm, the ridges of his knuckles - were completely gone, as if Renaud's hands had gone blind. He immediately ran his hands across his uniform, over its folds and buttons, until his hands found their way to his own face. He felt nothing, no sensation from his fingers or response from his face.
Cartier began to feel the icy tendrils of panic wrapping around his brain, almost squeezing it like a fruit. Frustration was the immediate symptom. "Sir," he said, his voice wavering, "I shall demand that you begin to make sense at once. I do not know where this Caido is, I do not know what you mean by 'unicorn'," Renaud assumed it must be a mistranslation, a fault in his own understanding, but had no desire to take the time to clarify, "and have no time for your magical fantasy! I lead a squadron of cavalry in the Republic's Army of Italy and I will be directed to my post at once or I shall have to write immediately to the army chief of staff!"
Renaud's voice had risen almost to a scream, the combination of his confusion, his wound, the odd heat within his body and his sudden lack of sensation proving too much for his mannered upbringing.
"So, Sir, I shall ask you once again; Where! Am! I!"
