Lion Head Mesa a-weema-weh

— and then he was gone. the girl can only blink at the place where he had been. gaze flickers to her guardian, trying desperately to find his. "is he dead?" maw opens and closes; she does not want to know. shroedinger's surya; if she does not look, does not ask, he is just as likely to have wandered away than be lying broken wherever he'd landed. 

a tiny shred of panic, fright threatens. but virtute's calm approach, his gentle touch, tamper it down. "I will," she promises, but first, she noses carefully the gash across his shoulder. "are you ok, virtu?" something to direct her focus toward, though she remains aware of the place the stranger most recently stood, should he somehow return. veritas presses her forehead against her guardian's chest, feeling the warmth there, and the heartbeat beneath. gradually, slowly, the frantic thrum of her own begins to slow. she's more or less kept her distance thus far in their relationship, but the sudden violence has made his calm a magnet.