Sequoia Coast passionfruit

for @Wilwarin! set whenever and wherever <3

he woke up screaming!

the touch of air upon his skin was agony. the taste of the wind frightened the demon, and the sound of the long snow with its creaking trees reduced him almost to blubbering.

it was as if he had been dead, and now he was alive, inexplicably alive.

panting, apollyon cut one single eye around, the other tender from where the wolftooth had torn the lid.

She had stayed with him. Even when her belly ached. Even when she thought she had failed. Perhaps she did not help him after all - he was feverish and damaged beyond what Wilwarin felt capable of treating - and so her caretaking was also a vigil. Nobody deserved such pain; nobody deserved to be abandoned in their hour of need.

When he woke, she was startled but did not rise up as the urge struck her. Feeling stuck now, wedged against him for warmth and protection, her eyes red-rimmed and weepy. Her instinct to run was filtered through this tiredness, and the delay softened her reaction.

Instead of running Wilwarin reached out to prove she was right there; she had done this a few times now when he had fussed or struggled. She cleaned his brow and tried to ease his suffering, not yet certain that he was truly awake - because she wasn't sure of that for herself.

the wolf dream beat in his mind.

slowly he became aware of warmth and contact. slowly he realized that someone leaned over him, a woman. familiar.

this time his single eye tried to grasp for her, to focus until the contours of her alabaster face and coingold eyes came into view, sharpening.

he knew her face. he did not even know his own name.

he remembered it, yes, what he had been called. but it seemed so insignificant now.

he worked torn lips, licking the dryness until the croak could be uttered: "am i dead?"

She had withdrawn to rub at her eyes when he spoke! Then fixed him with a look of startled wonder, which became a smile and a shake to her head. To express further that he was here and safe and alive Wilwarin lavished him with careful kisses of her tongue, and pressed her forehead to a part of him that wasn't bruised or battered.

It was neither the first nor the last time she found herself wishing she held words; but she had to do her best to communicate without them, and knew she could do it if the man was patient enough. He looked frightful, and frightened, and so she would be extra careful.

Alive! He was alive! Glad as she was, she isn't sure how it is possible with her cobbled together magics of half-learned plant lore; but perhaps what was most important was not her efforts, but that of the man and his survival instinct.

even as he asked, he knew, for the pain consuming all corners of his flesh said as much.

had they always been alone? had he? even as the woman pressed her reassurances upon him, the dreamer did not fully believe was was real.

an illusion. a pretty one. she fell away in wisps of snow and sunshine, blurring at the edges of his consciousness.

Wolf came.

i gave you my strength. now get up. rise. your journey calls.

he flexed his limbs, struggling suddenly to sit upright with a gritted cry of agony.

He was suddenly trying to stand up and it was a struggle. Wilwarin was on her feet immediately and trying to urge him not to move so fast, or really at all! Sit, sit, you're hurt! But she couldn't say these things, and was afraid that touching him in the wrong place might hurt him more.

Concern knit her features. She would've cried out to him if she could; be careful!

All she could do was be there if he needed her. She could be supportive, even if she was so small!

the fever's weakness reared hotly in the dreamer, and he caught himself half between sitting up and lying down. 

the woman communicated her worry in silent expressions. he found himself staring at her, at the porcelain figures with the giltglow eyes and the small intricate delicacies of her.

for once, the dreamer did not see her with a man's eyes but with the gaze of one who has gone beyond and returned. he wondered what had stolen her voice as he lay back against the earth of the bluff.

she reminded him of a "— dancing fox," the dreamer murmured, in a haze as he let the darkness fill his eyes and mind once more, and became insensate for a time.

Her insistence paid off, and he appeared to heed her distress. As he came back down to a prone position she worried over him; checking his wounds, being so quick and soft that hopefully he would not notice or at the very least, feel very little pain with her probing.

If only she could do more! Wilwarin's lips pursed as if she were to whine. When the man murmured something her ears were up and forward, and she thought it odd, but he was delirious with fever. The woman smoothed her tongue across his forehead and, yes — felt the heat there, which was intense and worrying.

As he fell to sleeping again, dancing fox felt a wave of mixed relief and concern, not knowing what else to do but keep him company. Her head lay across her reaching forelimbs, and she watched him breathing, counting each one until she too was in and out of dozing.