| [Jun. 2nd, 2009|10:40 pm] |
It wasn't even close to a request. Her voice cracked down his spine, arced through his nerves, and yanked him to his feet without ever engaging his brain. Natsumi followed him up, bracing up against his side before he got the chance to fall over. Something automatic made him grab for the sword and canteen, latching onto the blood-stained scabbard and hand-warmed metal before they clattered to the dirt. Natsumi's shoulder dug into his wounded side; her broken fingers clenched behind his back. He cried out; she gasped quietly. His hands tightened around two different pieces of forged steel.
And Natsumi took a step. Then another. Asuma lurched with her, never quite catching his balance. His stomach roiled; the world spiralled. He set his teeth, bracing himself with her determination.
It was like a fall, indefinitely postponed. Every time he faltered, she dragged him forwards. Every time he stumbled, she hauled him up. When he faded out, her shoulder pressed against his side and wrenched him back. It was miserable, but it was movement.
The brush of her lips stayed like an ice-brand against his jaw, unfading.
He swore at her in every language he could think of. She answered him in kind, albeit with slightly tamer words; the touch of leashed hysteria lent all the bladed edge her voice needed. When he retched again, she turned her face away and forced him onwards. When he lapsed into ragged, broken-breathed silence, staggering with every step, she cajoled, ordered, demanded, wheedled, begged, and made him keep going.
Slowly, the forest began to thin out. Trees gave way to widening clearings. Mountains broke up the horizon, blocking out the sinking moon. A path wound like a pebbled snake, leading them out of the vanishing trees. In the distance, the faintest glimmer of man-made lights twinkled, nestled in the deeper shadows of the foothills.
Asuma rasped something--he didn't even know what--and finally stopped. Natsumi tugged at him, but he couldn't manage another step. His bones felt like fractured glass. The wind had dried the last of the sweat from his skin; his body had no more water to offer. The canteen was long empty.
Metal clattered twice against stone as his grip loosened. Natsumi gasped as the rest of his weight hit her shoulders. He tried to yank away, but her arm tightened around his back.
"Le' go, love." It was a distant, croaking slur. She felt like melting ice, like snow trying to hold back a dying inferno. And he didn't want to drag her down. "M' gonna fall." |
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