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01-20-2015, 09:58 PM
Ettore's presence calms Astraeus, at least. The thunder-bird halts in his pacing, the showers of sparks falling from his frame harmless to the palomino mare. He bows his head to the younger companion, conferring as winged creatures will, speech composed of soft croons and seemingly nonsensical chirps. His concern is evident, if not the content of his mutterings. The angel, on the other hand, grows more frenzied and panicked as the moments tick by. It is not enough that she should have come so far and gotten so close only to be held from her goal by her dearest friend. It isn't fair. She's made her way home, or tried to - but no, that's not true, is it? She isn't going to make it home - and why should she? Is it even her home? Won't they have written her off as dead or traitor or lost? Gaucho won't have waited for her - it's hardly in his nature, and it isn't like they ever truly defined their relationship. At least not in the exclusive sense. "No -" she half-chokes, half-sobs - leaning more heavily on Rasta lest she lose her feet completely and fall, helpless, to the ground. If she falls now, will she ever find the strength to rise again? The delirium of pain and exhaustion is creeping ever closer to the forefront of her mind, held at bay thus far by adrenaline and a primal need to return home. "I - I have to get to them, Rasta. I - please - help -" She pauses, shaking and shuddering against the palomino's frame. A moment of clarity: "I won't - I won't make it to the Falls." Her bi-colored gaze searched feverishly for Rasta's. "Help." @[Rasta] "Talk talk talk." |
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