Instead of responding, he saved the air in his lungs for recovering his breath and walked towards where she laid on the ground, feeling the ache in every step. Clearly she was more exhausted than him—and even then exhausted might be an understatement. As if testing fate and his own strength (Merlin help him) he sunk down on the ground next to her head, feet flat on the floor in front of him and his knees level with his chest.
He wasn't a healer, and even if she was hurt he wouldn't have a single clue what to do to help her; and yet, looking down at the bruises forming on her arms at the spot where the skin of her neck peeked out from under her dress' neckline, he felt compelled to offer help. Only - he'd never been very good at that, and the words died on his tongue. His blue eyes stared down at her, flickering from her face to her sopping dress to her muck-covered shoes. He realized that it wasn't that he wasn't capable of comforting her, but rather that he didn't know what words could provide comfort. They'd been in this together, were both a little battered and a little bruised, and they'd both nearly died. How was he supposed to help her cope with that while struggling to cope himself?
"I'll replace the dress," was what he decided on, his gaze caught on the tear in the fabric at her ribs. If not for her corset—which he didn't want to acknowledge, not even to himself, that he could see, lest his mind decide to focus on it rather than the situation at hand—she might have been all cut up. "... and the shoes."
He wasn't a healer, and even if she was hurt he wouldn't have a single clue what to do to help her; and yet, looking down at the bruises forming on her arms at the spot where the skin of her neck peeked out from under her dress' neckline, he felt compelled to offer help. Only - he'd never been very good at that, and the words died on his tongue. His blue eyes stared down at her, flickering from her face to her sopping dress to her muck-covered shoes. He realized that it wasn't that he wasn't capable of comforting her, but rather that he didn't know what words could provide comfort. They'd been in this together, were both a little battered and a little bruised, and they'd both nearly died. How was he supposed to help her cope with that while struggling to cope himself?
"I'll replace the dress," was what he decided on, his gaze caught on the tear in the fabric at her ribs. If not for her corset—which he didn't want to acknowledge, not even to himself, that he could see, lest his mind decide to focus on it rather than the situation at hand—she might have been all cut up. "... and the shoes."
set by lady <3