The druid was starting to feel, and he didn't like it.
There was sand, pressing against him. Sand, shifting in rhythm with his breathing (he was breathing, he had a heartbeat). There was sand above him, between his fingers, soft and gritty along his skin.
It seemed to him that there was a time when he could ignore the sand. When he was just dry and dry was all he needed. There was no water here, and he was parched from it. Parched and safe.
No, no, wrong, and he pressed himself further into sleep, further into unconsciousness. He didn't exist. He didn't want to exist. He didn't need to exist, and therefore there was nothing here, nothing but sand...
...sand that moved as he breathed.
The druid's spirit squirmed, fitfully, pressing towards consciousness even as he dragged it back. If he was awake then the tide of power would sweep over him again, channel through him like the oceans of the world through the head of a pin. He would die this time, he was sure of it.
But what if he didn't.Two more of the minds, the minds that kept
( ... )
Quahl watched the grass melt away, the sand shimmer and flatten underneath her, and she reached out and laid her palm against it, felt it press back. "I know you can hear me." She thought she even knew why he'd done what he'd done. The fight and the flood and the incredible strain he must be under. "I know you want to hide, but this is bigger than you, and it's bigger than me. I need your help. I need you to get us out of here, back to where we belong. I need you to do that for me. Please. I need you to be strong, Sorcerer. I need you to come back to me now."
He didn't want to. He was fine here, fine trapped. Entrapment was all well and good, when freedom meant such pain. And so he fought against her voice, fought against the reassertion of his identity.
And yet he listened, too. Dulled down the world, so he could listen better.
The air around her got quiet. The crash of the falls faded until it was almost gone. The wind rustling the palm fronds made no sound at all. It was a response, though not the one she'd hoped for. Quahl flexed her hand and pressed against the sand until she could dig her fingers into it. "Please... I can't stay here. We can't stay here. You know that. I wish I could leave you alone in the dark where you feel safe, where the world can't touch you, but you're needed up here. We need you. I need you. I can't do this alone and I need your help, like the last time. you followed me then, you trusted me then. I need that from you now." It was harder to attempt to read someone she couldn't see, but he was listening to her, reacting to her words. So she just had to keep going.
He was hypnotized by her words. Floating, in the stream of her consciousness, on the current of her emotion. She was pulling him up, and he couldn't fight it.
Muscles and tendons ache with it, but the sand draws her hand in, to the wrist, just deep enough that his fingertips can brush against hers.
Comments 14
There was sand, pressing against him. Sand, shifting in rhythm with his breathing (he was breathing, he had a heartbeat). There was sand above him, between his fingers, soft and gritty along his skin.
It seemed to him that there was a time when he could ignore the sand. When he was just dry and dry was all he needed. There was no water here, and he was parched from it. Parched and safe.
No, no, wrong, and he pressed himself further into sleep, further into unconsciousness. He didn't exist. He didn't want to exist. He didn't need to exist, and therefore there was nothing here, nothing but sand...
...sand that moved as he breathed.
The druid's spirit squirmed, fitfully, pressing towards consciousness even as he dragged it back. If he was awake then the tide of power would sweep over him again, channel through him like the oceans of the world through the head of a pin. He would die this time, he was sure of it.
But what if he didn't.Two more of the minds, the minds that kept ( ... )
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And yet he listened, too. Dulled down the world, so he could listen better.
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Muscles and tendons ache with it, but the sand draws her hand in, to the wrist, just deep enough that his fingertips can brush against hers.
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