when you're feeling lost

HARPER

"Hey there's some pretty cute bugs in the world!" The protest's sincerity is cheapened by the boyish grin on his face, dimples deep and eyes bright from where they squint beneath the force of his cheeks. It scarcely wavers, even as she squeezes his hand and does...something. It looks like a heat mirage, or a butane torch, though only one is something he'd expect to find in Caido. With magic, however, there are so few limits that the trust he has put in her is not without necessity. Still, he had placed it all the same, and so he steps through it - and into an entirely different world.

Even as she scurries about, clearly at home here, Harper turns slowly in the preternatural white sands, taking in everything the island has to offer him visually. It takes him a delayed moment to register her words and obligingly sit cross-legged in the sand, propping his injured arm on his knee to extend it for when she returns and to minimize the ache that throbs in time with his heartbeat.

Leaning sideways to peer obnoxiously into the kit, half-hovering over her shoulder like the nosy bird he is, Harper gives an appreciative noise. "This should be perfect. Grab those tweezers first; remember what I said about debris and infection?" Then he turns to sit perpendicular to her, laying his arm across her lap to give her the best angle to pluck the remaining strands of rope clinging to the raw edges of the lacerations.

if brokenness is a form of art
I must be a poster child prodigy