Ankyra Sound if home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked

Finally, he gained his composure. Somewhat. With one last look at Alarian, he dashed away into the green, looking for herbs. Anything. At this point, he needed a fucking magic elixir that probably only existed on the moon or some shit. After some frantic searching, he clutched a bundle of moss to his chest, along with a bunch of other flowers that Emily's too lazy to look up but they're the flowers that help heal hurty people you dig?

He half-fell to the ground next to his brother, beginning to place moss against the worst of it. It's me, Alarian, I'm here, he said, choked. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here. I'm here. He kept repeating it, hoping against hope that the kid wouldn't lash out at him. But god, he wasn't a kid anymore, was he?

He was a man. A bruised and broken man. And Zamael hadn't been there to see him to grow into himself. He hadn't been there to save him from whatever the fuck did this to him.

Oh, cool. There was the guilt again.