She placed a clawed hand over his, her cold fingers gently reassuring him as her words did the same, “There is no need to be Sir Knight. You did not know, and that was the insidious point of the dream.”
Her blood seeped from underneath their hands, turning from an indigo and violet sludge into a rush of crimson flowers and tiny white birds. She hissed in irritation and pain.
“This curse is slowing down any healing I could make upon myself,” she glanced at his wounded leg, and her brow furrowed even more, “and upon you, as I had feared. Leo, it is entirely possible that you’re wounded in the waking world as well. But I’m afraid there’s little to be done until this task is completed.”
She winced, shifting away from the knight until she laid onto her back, staring up at the slate grey sky. “You’ll have to move on without me,” a great regret hung onto those words, “You can’t carry me, and I can’t move on in this weakened state. I can heal, but it will take me time.”
She turned her head to him, “I will find you when I can. But you must be vigilant. We’re getting close to the core of the curse, and the caster is becoming desperate to stop you.” She curled her claws once more around his hand, squeezing as if she could give him some of the confidence she wasn’t sure she could feel.
She nodded her head towards a door nestled between two birch trees. “Hurry, stay safe, and remember that none of this is real Sir Leo.”
♞—⊱ The blood coming from her wound was a wonder in itself. Beautiful, unlike anything he had ever seen, and he would have admired it if it was not an acquaintance’s life seeping between his fingers, no matter how beautiful the mirage of it was. It was then that he remembered she was an entity. That her visage was not human. That she was in his mind with him because his dreams had become a plagued land in her realm.
And he, the petulant fool, had maimed her.
Only when she pointed out his own wound did he cringe, remembering that he should have healed by now. The dreamworld continued to lash out at him, even without an aggressor. The warlock could hardly feel the access point of his magic to even stitch the skin back. Fear bubbled through him and he found himself shaking his head at her request.
"Can’t leave ye here. It’s going to get worse.“ He only squeezed her hand. "I know what’s beyond that door. M'going to need help. I need you.” Despite his state, he pulled her up from her shoulders and moved her head to rest on his lap. “How will I even fight whatever’s next in this state, Yidhra? How will I remember this is only in my head? I’ve failed to in every level thus far.” His words were pleading, but his voice was soft, his hand gentle when pressing against her wound.
