cormac's notebook. (curagad) wrote in emillion, |
The pain was unbearable. It snaked through her veins, settling deep into her bones and rendering her immobile when the only option for survival had been to get back on her feet and run. But fleeing was no longer a viable option as the blood slipped across her skin, streaking scarlet down the sides of her dress. Even with her staff, her magic would've been useless against her foe, so what was there to do but lay down and die?
Amidst the sounds of battles commencing, Ridley couldn't hear Storm coming until he was close, close enough to strike the knight in her stead. Motion had become impossible, save for the trembling in her limbs (fear? or weakness?) and so all she could accomplish was a slight lift of her head. Drink this, he'd yelled, the sound of his voice rattling in her mind. When had he come so close? Drink what?
Only after dropping her eyes to the bottle clutched in his hand did she understand: Potion. But what good was a Potion in her state, when even her legs refused to cooperate? Save yourself, she wanted to yell back (go, please), but no words left her lips-- not before she was downing the Potion. Though it was no high level curative spell, it would help stop the bleeding, for a time, provided they even had the time to escape or defend themselves.
Her gratitude was silent as she met his gaze, fingers sliding to his wrist. Before any words could be said, reinforcements had arrived, faces she recognized but couldn't quite place. Her free hand slipped to the dirtied and bloodied dress pooled around her, bunching into the material.
"Inside," she whispered, as if in agreement.