"Run…" The words echoed loudly through his mind in this swampy land of death. Perspiration oozed, creeping down the linen cloth wrapped around his eyes. "Syris… you alive? Come on. Answer me." he cursed when no answer came. "Syris! Fuck don't make me—"
Cradled in his arms with a gaping hole in her stomach, bleeding a sickening black rot of bile and puss, Syris barely had the strength to speak. "A-A-Alive," she managed, gasping for some semblance of air or mana. She found neither, only an ice abyss consuming her whole.
The Young Man holding her didn't allow himself a sigh of relief, training his senses on his surroundings; he stopped crouching in a set of bushes, listening… listening….. Listening.
"a… Al… Altair…" Gently covering her mouth, Altair unhooked a small dagger from his pelt before carving away at the rotten flesh before the rot reached her heart.
