I hardly noticed when they first clamped bodies tightly around me, pushing against sore flesh and coming to a combined choice to drag what was left of these remains along. Their weight against me was a nearly anesthetized pressure. For a moment my saviors allowed limbs to remain immobile, locked and seemingly useless in being more than a brace against the ant crawling, beetle digging world below. There were dark spots growing out of the sides of my vision, Daddy became murky as if cloaked in a coming storm—his silvery fur turned into a milky shadow. I didn’t bother glancing over at Illynx, she likely disappeared. A deep pounding volunteered to rob remaining senses, blood rushed past ears and into the abyss which was my brain. The gushing sound was drowning and broke what fragile connection could be mustered between Daddy and me.

He was talking to me though, a soothing and grave voice that gave more comfort by tone then by the choice of words. Like a small light shining in its pinpoint way I narrowed on their voices—finding a new anchor to drive back a fraction of obscurity which was pounding wider to the rhythm of my heartbeat. We could have stood here for half a century, it would have suited me fine. Until they started to walk…

Pain returned with vengeance, rising from warm embers into a funnel--my feet buckled uselessly and dragged even more counter-productively. Remaining strength flooded a new wave of panic, I was going to fall! But the ground drifted no closer and vision didn’t simply fan out of existence. They held me, and this grown frame tightly, steadily enough to actually secure a few steps without the three of us tottering over.

Daddy spoke, urging me, find the will to not give in. The stubbornness of my parents (or parents in general) was astounding, and a child could only follow by example. I struggled with limbs, trying to get them to work in some fashion that would be of service rather than complete hindrance. The fire surged and I screamed, though to them it would come out as a gaping sigh, teeth gashing in a near yawn like stretch. Immature magic lacked vigor to make a better connection with da, so I would suffer this alone. Wobbly props took half steps, a rocking, snail pace was our result.