09-27-2012, 12:55 PM
For a moment, he was certain that the voice he'd heard had been in his head. A noise like a shifting of the rubble came to him, and he flinched, expecting that he was going to be crushed. The weight on him became lighter rather than heavier, though, and he was able to get to his knees to look up at the leader. For a moment, the rain pelted his face and he flinched, but she shifted her weight to place herself as a barrier between he and the storm. A giggle rose in his throat as he knelt there looking up at her. It was like he was proposing. He giggled again, his eyes wild and almost frantic. "My hero. Marry me." His voice was rusty and hoarse,and probably went unheard above the storm. He giggled again as he climbed to his feet, taking her outstretched hand as he slipped.
His legs were weak. Fear and lack of food and activity made him weak. He closed his eyes, shuddering as he could vividly recall the loss of mobility, the crushing terror of being trapped, of never being found and dying where he was, entombed in what had once been his private paradise. The clinical, detached part of his mind told him he was simply in shock. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't listen. Though he hadn't eaten the morning of the collapse (or since then obviously,) he suddenly felt nauseated. He glanced helplessly at his rescuer before slipping to his knees to hang his head and retch a few times. Nothing came out, but as he wiped his mouth and stood again, he felt better.
Shelter. She wouldn't be here if the rest of the pack wasn't safe. She wouldn't be here if Myrddin wasn't safe. He took her hand again, wordlessly placing his trust and his life in her hands, accepting her presence and her guidance. Skye would get him to safety. She had risked her life to find him. (He would later chastise her for putting her life at risk, running the frightening chance of orphaning her puppies.)
His legs were weak. Fear and lack of food and activity made him weak. He closed his eyes, shuddering as he could vividly recall the loss of mobility, the crushing terror of being trapped, of never being found and dying where he was, entombed in what had once been his private paradise. The clinical, detached part of his mind told him he was simply in shock. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't listen. Though he hadn't eaten the morning of the collapse (or since then obviously,) he suddenly felt nauseated. He glanced helplessly at his rescuer before slipping to his knees to hang his head and retch a few times. Nothing came out, but as he wiped his mouth and stood again, he felt better.
Shelter. She wouldn't be here if the rest of the pack wasn't safe. She wouldn't be here if Myrddin wasn't safe. He took her hand again, wordlessly placing his trust and his life in her hands, accepting her presence and her guidance. Skye would get him to safety. She had risked her life to find him. (He would later chastise her for putting her life at risk, running the frightening chance of orphaning her puppies.)