who we are and all that we're trying to be
He watched as her expression changed and altered, the uncertainty segmenting somewhere in his bones, coiling along his marrow, tissue, and skin. They should be able to echoed, and he swallowed down the dread, the apprehension, that something was amiss or off. That it shouldn’t have been this way. That there was a possibility of more repercussions or disasters, an underlying current he wasn’t capable of fathoming.
Perhaps who’d done the healing mattered, and he could understand those fathoms and requests, pondering where strengths were administered, where some might not be enough. Memories formed and bristled in his mind, parsing along those who’d gathered in the wake of the disaster, who would’ve been capable of tending to mending. “Jigano and Zuriel,” a nod of his head indicating the unicorn at his side, and the mare might’ve straightened. Amun had the staff in his hand – familiar and crimson. Had it been used towards the Shield, or himself? “Possibly Amalia’s staff, and those working in the infirmary.” Soothing, mending, and assuaging, and still, with all this magic – had her injuries been too devastating? The wounds too monumental, the incantations surveying what they could do, what they could repair?
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
