Shadewood shake your bones

Age was typically a factor when it came to heart-attacks, but maybe he'd been born with something wrong with his. Someone had always been missing in Tywyll's life and maybe it was a piece of himself. He was down in the dirt, fluctuating wildly between feelings of anxiety and the sensation of his chest constricting, forcing a numbness to creep through his limbs. Was he dying? Maybe. Was he frightened? Very much so. He wanted to kick and scream and call for help — call for his mother, who had left him for the Firebirds — but all he could do was gasp for air while the stranger watched over him. She seemed just as startled as he was, and tried to calm him down. Telling him to breathe. Telling him things would be fine. He'd be okay once this - whatever it was - passed.

Gradually the attack softened. He could suck in air at a more regulated pace. The ache in his chest would not subside for quite a while yet and he felt weak, weaker than he'd ever felt before — but Tywyll was just a kid and he'd never known his own limitations, never gotten the chance to figure that stuff out. Now he was limited because the attack likely left his heart fragile. The boy let loose a pathetic whine and crawled towards the safety that the stranger's warm body presented.