Bringing his own hands in front of him, they trembled naturally; his wrists had turned to a deep purple, bloodied and swollen as he winced from a single, light touch.
Returning his attention to his companion, his tears continued to slide from his left eye.
"Macheo…?" He called with worry.
Crawling over to his companion that sat on the threshold of death, he helped him stand, though he had trouble getting up himself after being knelt down for such a prolonged amount of time.
Macheo's warmth was faint, he felt, nearing on a more distant, harrowing cold as his skin that was undyed by crimson was as pale as a ghost's own.
"Ren...get out...of here," Macheo whispered through his dried, bloodied lips.
He looked at the Lucrauvian, keeping his arm slung over his shoulder as he supported him, "...I'm bringing you with me."
