Armed I am with love. Disarmed I am.

Wandering eyes rove his honeyed flesh, looking for any indication of concealment – assuming that bravo couldn’t mask the view of spewing infliction. “I’m alright.” There was a flash of instant relief; gratitude to find his condition as he’d been before…before… those sensations of thankfulness are short-lived; the voice of gratitude is mauled and strangled by the claws of bitter reality. Our terrifying predicament. “…I don’t like this place… the strange light and the shadows…” Wide eyes flinch toward the cluster of highlighted timber; their leash is meek and helpless to follow where he instructs. Our saturated, over-bright surrounding(s) bring fresh trembling to the surface. Tiny bumps ripple madly across my wet, shivering hide. The pulsing kaleidoscope light made me think of bright, deadly creatures…those that were poisonous by simple touch. The vulnerable, shell-shocked part of me wanted nothing more than to shut it all out; hide beneath his ivory curtain and press my cheek into the sleek, granite mold of his damp, steaming shoulder. “Let’s find cover.” His decision to find cover is met with a shallow nod of agreement; my betraying, precipice voice didn’t care to rise to the occasion.  It wasn’t the word(s), or even the gentle tenor of his assurance which held power to sooth my skittish nature and foster reliance – it was witnessing him stiffen the invisible bone in his spine, the pride who contented with fear and shrinking, pitiful weakness. It was his strength, his fortitude that lent me the energy to pull in a great mouthfuls of moldy air and unglue our bodies, slightly. As we push forward, him leading and me tucked like a newborn against his flank, the ignored panic for our missing companion(s) flails to the surface of my subconscious. My throat lining instantly becomes dry and the muscles tighten to constrict airflow, “Noah,” I plead for him to pause. There was necessity to find a conclusion - despite the sickened apprehension increasingly churning in the nether regions of my belly – these mental fingers reach into the warm darkness, feeling for his fluttering, rapid heartbeat...only to find the severed link. 'Aaru!?' A desperate, internal scream; as if there were some miracle waiting to relieve this agony. There was no reply of course; Aaru is gone. His tormentor is gone. Cut away; amputated. Grief rushes forward, hot tears spill their rim; streaming down the canvas of both cheeks, “I-I c-can’t feel A-aaru,” irises twist upward, their brims swimming with liquid, “he…he…” Not even the sensation of death (any conclusion might’ve been preferred) could be touched by those internal, mental prods. There is simply nothing, as if his entire existence had been rewound and snuffed out. “N-n-nephele?” The name comes suddenly, broken on shattered, fractional hope.