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Time, she says, and your brows furrow, head pressing closer to the peculiar little trinket. The faces are a blur of color, of lines and of little consequence, and you watch with a tempered excitement. The wonder of such a device is lost beneath the gravity of the situation, your mind too loud to truly even try to grasp what lay in front of you. As soon as they appeared they vanish, leaving nothing but the ivory white of the clock face that you realize had been there all along. But something is wrong. The great beast stills, and for a moment too long you simply stare at her sides, your own breath caught in your lungs. But they do not move, and panic begins to find its way in to your heart. Your face shoots to Lena then, because she is the embodiment of the strength and goodness that you could never hope to replicate, the one that, out of all of you, has the best chance to save her, and even as she speaks of passing you shake your head, hooves clamoring on rock as you step backwards, eyes wide with shock. Maybe it is the belief that because she had been found, because you had put all your belief because you didn’t need just hope because you knew she would be fine, that somehow her aches and bruises and all the wrong would be soothed away, erased. That she would live without a doubt. Your eyes sting, throat swelling with the bitterness of defeat, of loss, your body trembling though not just from the chill that still permeates the air, your heart numbing to the softness of Lena’s humming. There are no words, no tears that fall despite the weeping of your heart, the plummet of your stomach. The three of you had tried and you had failed, her life snuffed out before your very eyes despite every well-intentioned attempt to fix her. What more is there to be done? |
