"What happened?" Alaric's voice came from far away as Rowan struggled against the current of pleas that flooded his senses. "Is it the poison?"
Wren pulled him into an embrace, then guided Rowan's face to his chest with a gentle hand at the back of his head. The soft brush of Wren's fingers over his nape urged Rowan to relax, and finally he was able to breathe. Wren's scent filled his nostrils, and his warmth kept him from being swept away.
"Their prayers are overwhelming him." Wren's voice rumbled under his cheek.
"Prayers?" Willow whispered the word.
Finally the crushing weight of the people's requests subsided. They hadn't stopped exactly, but now that he'd adjusted to them being in his head, Rowan was able to somewhat block them out. They'd changed shape, and if he listened, he could pick out threads of gratitude mixed with the worried demands.
