KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
Pain. Pure, raw, physical pain. It made a nice contrast to the mental agony he was supposed to be taking a break from. That's why he had gone out here, wasn't it? For a nice relaxing day away from all the sad shit. Ha. He should have known better.
Korbin started fumbling after the knife when Delphine asked for it, but she got to it first. His hands were surprisingly steady, and so were his knees as he hunched down, leaning one shoulder against the wall while he gave up access to the other. Being so tall, it might be hard for her to reach the wound if he stayed upright. How ironic; staying on his feet had always been the only thing he could do. When did he start thinking himself capable of doing more?
"What happened? On your mission?" he asked, steeling himself against what would come. He could hear her teeth clattering; a soft frown creased his brow as Korbin looked over his shoulder at her. "You should remove a layer. Running made you sweat; you need to dry out, then put the clothes back on." He would do the same, once there wasn't a fucking arrow sticking out of his back. Once he was able to move again. Once his thoughts weren't swimming in a crimson sea.
Funny, this. Even in a pinch, even while injured, his mind was so clear. Calmer than it had been in a very long time. Not since the attack. Not since Weaver died.
Was that an answer? Did Korbin actually belong out here, on the Tundra?
Korbin started fumbling after the knife when Delphine asked for it, but she got to it first. His hands were surprisingly steady, and so were his knees as he hunched down, leaning one shoulder against the wall while he gave up access to the other. Being so tall, it might be hard for her to reach the wound if he stayed upright. How ironic; staying on his feet had always been the only thing he could do. When did he start thinking himself capable of doing more?
"What happened? On your mission?" he asked, steeling himself against what would come. He could hear her teeth clattering; a soft frown creased his brow as Korbin looked over his shoulder at her. "You should remove a layer. Running made you sweat; you need to dry out, then put the clothes back on." He would do the same, once there wasn't a fucking arrow sticking out of his back. Once he was able to move again. Once his thoughts weren't swimming in a crimson sea.
Funny, this. Even in a pinch, even while injured, his mind was so clear. Calmer than it had been in a very long time. Not since the attack. Not since Weaver died.
Was that an answer? Did Korbin actually belong out here, on the Tundra?
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
