Lionhearts ||Skephalo||

28

You're weary, your shoulders aching from the weight you carry

A gentle hand rests on your arm, a light voice asking you quietly,

"We should rest, shouldn't we? It's dark and we've been going for days without sleeping." Your mouth curves into a displeased grimace, and the speaker tries again, "You'll be able to use more magic if you sleep, right?"

You run a hand through your hair, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath.

"It's not so easy," you sigh, "if I sleep I know that all the voices will try to help." Your companion sits down next to you, and brushes his messy bangs out of his eyes.

"The voices still haven't calmed down?"

"Not since we fell through...and recently one's been very insistent. She wants me to come home." You adjust your hat, standing up and then pulling your overcoat down from where it had bunched up during flight. "We need to keep going. On foot, if we need to. It's not like it will make it worse to keep going, right?"

The other man raises an anxious gaze to the sky, pointing to the circling creatures.

"Yeah, it can. The phantoms will just keep coming if we don't rest." He nocks an arrow, taking aim as one of the phantoms dives for him, his arrow impaling it through its torso and dropping the body to the ground.

He retrieves his arrow, and looks to you.

"You need to have a little faith," you scold him, "I know what we need to do, alright?..."

He bites his lip, murmuring,

"I know, I know...you've got a plan. But he hasn't answered you yet, has he?"

You wince, and open your eyes as whispers of your allies, alive and dead alike, begin to fill your mind. Every time you relax, they sense your concern and flood in, asking questions, offering help, asking if you'll be okay.
"What's wrong? What's wrong? Can I help? Do you need me?"

You put your hands over your ears, and he reaches over to place his hands on your shoulders.

"Take a deep breath," he murmurs, and then makes you look up as the living whispers fade, the dead whispers growing louder and louder and— "Look at me."

He forces you to meet his eyes, his dark gaze piercing into your light one. You know he isn't a strong mage, but you can feel him stroking down the cries and questions with his weak magic.
He usually uses a focus object to help him with his spells, but all he can do right now is pull you out of your head, into his eyes...

"...it's alright," you tell him, "they're quiet now. Thank you."

He nods slightly, and you release your spell. He flinches as a brittle shattering fills the air; and then it fades.
He lays next to you, tucking his head against your chest as you hide yourselves in the brush. He murmurs,

"You're okay. Deep breaths, we'll find them soon."

You let yourself be reassured, holding him to you and listening to his breathing, his heartbeat.
You're both alive, and you're sure they are too. You can feel two gentle heartbeats resonating somewhere in the distance.

You'll find them, no matter what.

No matter how many voices pound inside your skull and how many times you push yourself to the limit.

His eyes close and you feel him drift into sleep.
You join him soon, strangled by whispers of people that you know are dead.

They're not in the whispers, so everything is alright.