Ankyra Sound a blackout oath i swore and meant but couldn't conjure up again

She scattered at the darkness within him and for whatever reason, that made him feel worse.  As much as she had once hated her for what she was — a Rusalkan, an enemy — wasn't she the closest thing to home he had right now?  There was some kind of twisted safety in knowing that if noting else, he had that.

That could work, he muttered, the shame inside of him sharpening, turning into an edge in his voice that he'd wield against her.  He moved to stand and though his legs trembled beneath him, he could do at least that.  It was when he tried to walk that he knew he wouldn't make it far — he stumbled beneath his own weight and landed chest-first in the sand with one of his legs twisted uncomfortably underneath him.

It wasn't broken, but he wasn't getting anywhere without help and support.  The problem was, he couldn't make himself ask for it.  He was so stubborn that he'd rather die before he asked; it was instead there unspoken in his eyes as they glanced sidelong at the girl whose presence was tenuous at best.