* @atlasburdened — LOOK AT ME. YOU’RE GONNA BE OKAY.
IT IS THOUGH ALLURA IS NOT SURPRISED TO SEE THEM STUMBLE BACK INTO HER HOME, BREATHLESS AND SHAKEN. the look she gives them — the look she gives caleb — is as from one looking upon a familiar sight, though they have spoken with her little. caleb scrambles up from the floor, still clutching the staff ( allura’s staff, though that barely makes any sense at all right now ), eyes wild and wet and . . . he can still smell the fire, the blood, vergessen.
what have i done? and he does not realize he’s spoken aloud ( maybe he hasn’t; maybe allura sees even more than familiarity in their persons ) until allura speaks in response. he blinks, and he feels . . . sixteen. veth’s hand squeezes his so tight she might break him, and caleb keeps glancing to his other side, finding jester, though he can smell and hear and feel her already. he shakes his head.
“ y-you . . . should not have given me this, ” he mutters in the hoarse, hard-to-find-words way he has not in so long now. he looks down at her staff ( that’s very disappointing, bren, i told you to look at me ), and shakes his head again. “ i-i am sorry, i-i’m — we shouldn’t have . . . i shouldn’t have . . . ” so many ways to finish that sentence, aren’t there, widogast?
it’s ( he’s ) not going to be okay. and it’s all his fault.
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