His mind was flying almost as fast as he was moving. He knew nothing about healing, knew nothing about fixing wounds or mending cuts; when it came to Geneva's broken body, far more would be needed. Naniko? No, he had barely seen her as of late, and he hadn't the slightest where she lingered when idle. Angelique, or Anya? They'd both mentioned knowing some herbal maneuvers or something -- no, he couldn't go to them, either. They wouldn't have known how to fix this. He couldn't take the risk that they wouldn't. He couldn't waste that time now.
All the while, he listened to the sounds she made: the gurgles, the coughs, the sputters, and his stomach twisted each time they came. At every sound he held her a little closer, as if he had gathered together the pieces and could lose one at any time. And at every break in his thoughts he had, every pause in his step, every curl of his gentle fingers around her delicate form, he would leave another quick, sad peck at her forehead, her ears, her eyes, as if it would hold her together, as if it would serve as a temporary glue. His green eye turned this way and that. Where could he go? Who could he go to?
He choked something awful and moaned, and a streak of weakness slid through his legs. He stumbled a little, the sound so painful that is was physically waning to bear listening. He gritted his teeth, stopping his run. Where could he go? Where would they be safe?
Amidst the rain, he heard her voice crawl from her throat. The cyclops looked down at her, green eye still flooding over. A small, broken smile crept at his lips. "I'm h-here," he choked, "I-I love y-you, I-I'm here."
They couldn't stay here long. Where could they go? Dawali and Ember would know what to do. Where else could he turn? He'd take a horse; he'd get there fast. They would help him. They had to help him. They had to save this girl. He turned, and towards the ranch he sprinted. He had to beat time.
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