Barrow Fields shine a light into the wreckage

it seemed that the boy began to blur and to writhe before his very gaze, firelight sending ripples of heat into the air; dissipation; transcendence.
mahler returned to himself from where he had become half-lidded, jaws relaxing in a gape against the snow. grimacing at the moisture of his own spilled saliva, the man gave a low grunt as pain lanced through his body. the spinning cherub had coalesced into a beautiful boy once more, one who had ministered to him. willing himself to remain still, mahler took the sum of himself and the herbage that cloaked his wounded leg. it was with no visible expression that the lilac eyes returned to the medic, who he watched for a stretch of time. "thank you," came the clipped words; a magnaminous expression for mahler if there ever was one.