hands of uncertainty

[Endymion Russo]

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private for rachias. set the 20th.

It was finally quiet, but the quiet was almost as bad as the noise. Endymion watched the pair with dry, vigilant eyes, slowly drumming his fingers against his knee. He couldn't tell if they were better. It had been two days and he was already looking for improvement. The wolf desperately needed patience, but his nerves were all frazzled. The drumming increased. He couldn't tell who was the worst, either. He couldn't tell who needed the most attention. He knew that Jasper, whom Endymion had met nearly a year ago, was the first with the disease, but he was young and was most likely to pull through. Laruku and Ahren both looked awful, and were obviously a little older than Jasper. But who had it the worst? The question ran repeatedly through Endymion's head, sometimes in a whisper and other times it rang in his ears like a thunderclap.

Running a hand over his face, the wolf reached for the water jug at his side. It was almost entirely full; he hadn't had an opportunity to water them properly. He sighed and took a drink. Through the thinly-curtained window he could the see sky beginning to turn gray. He hadn't slept since meeting Ryan the day before. The thought made a soft laugh escape his lips, the noise barely breaking the silence. His pale eyes continued to watch the two men.

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