"I'm delirious," Asuma echoed, finally saying it out loud. "I'm not... balance-impaired. I can walk fine, gorgeous." If the landscape stayed still. "And I can't lean on you; I'd crush you flat." Even so, he let his hand rest briefly on the cool wing of her shoulder, long fingers leaving crusted red-black marks over skin and shirt and collarbone. Natsumi was tall for a woman--the top of her head almost level with his mid-throat--but he still outweighed her by a good fifty pounds. She'd collapse before they ever made it to the monastery.

Tall woman, fifty pounds, ten miles to go--he grabbed hold of facts like a lifeline and hung onto them, even as his hand dropped away.

The forest did a slow-spinning dance, wheeling around like a carnival ride. Natsumi reached for him, unbroken hand darting out; Asuma staggered a step back and caught hold of the nearest tree trunk.

"I'm supposed to be looking out for you," he rasped, dragging the protest from a semi-coherent place. Sweat stung his eyes; he closed them, trying to wrap words around a thought that made sense. "This isn't how it works."