Herbalists' Cache i knew it wasn't actually you a few feet from my reach.

The demon wrenches free and — no, not a demon, he realizes as she turns her gaze to him, she's real. Real, and very sick; it's the only explanation he can think of for her condition. It occurs to him that he could offer help — that he should. It would be the right thing to do, he knows, and it'd be what his dad would do. He sucks in a breath, trying for a moment to steel his suddenly-frayed nerves.
But then he remembers that no one had helped him when he was sick. Not until dad found him. He takes another step back, ears flattening warily as he starts to give in to his fear. She can ask if she wants help, he tells himself, trying to summon up some sort of irritation. All he feels is afraid and guilty and slightly nauseous, though.