*CRASH*
An unspecified amount of time later, Clayton opened his eyes. The air was dusty and his head… Oh dear sweet Vis, his head was killing him.
Bringing himself to his hands and knees was a bit of an ordeal, but since Clayton was used to that sort of thing, he soldiered through it. He reached into his pocket for the small crystal box he’d thought to bring before leaving the chapter house.
Through double vision, he managed to locate a spell patch and slapped it on his forehead. Practice made the action second nature.
Once the bandage dulled the effects of his brand-new concussion, Clayton took in his surroundings. Half the ceilinghad come down, but luckily, it had spared the shacks lining the walls. His companions, on the other hand…
“No... Eira! Grampy!”
It took a few minutes of frantic searching and scrambling around the rubble, but eventually, he spotted Eira propped against Grampy’s house. Grampy was nowhere to be seen, but the door to his house hung open.
Clayton raced to Eira’s side and checked her over as politely and respectfully as possible, praying to Vis that everything was still intact. He breathed a sigh of relief when the only wound he found was a scrape on her forehead. He fished out another spell patch and applied it with more care than he had to his own person.
A purple-spotted head poked out the door. ”Oh, good, you have spell patches. I couldn’t find anything.” Grampy’s age-worn face relaxed.
“Are you all right, Grampy?”
“I managed to duck inside before the ceiling came down. I can’t speak for the other guy, though.”
“Other guy?” Clayton frowned in confusion. “Oh, you mean The Arm. I’ll go check.”
It took less time to locate The Arm than it had Eira, probably because Clayton was no longer seeing two of everything.
The Arm was on the floor, attached to a well-formed shoulder, an impressive set of pecs, and a surprisingly young face. The man couldn’t be any older than Clayton. A shock of messy white hair had been coated in blood on one side, making it easy to assess what was wrong.
Clayton needed to get closer, so he shifted a chunk of rock lying next to The Arm. There was a gasp, and then the most amazing thing happened. The Arm opened his eyes. The background went all hazy, and the ground under Clayton’sknees stopped being as useful as it had previously been. Now it felt… wobbly. Or maybe that was his legs.
Eyes dark and fathomless as black holes blinked. Clayton’s world blinked too. Small details came to him, like the strikingly white, unruly hair fading to black where the man’s undercut began. Or how his eyes were fully black, no visible pupils or white sclera, just an endless black that Clayton could fall into forever and never wish to leave. Or the fact that his skin wasn’t quite a normal shade for regular folk. It was difficult to see the difference in the badly lit tunnel, but Clayton was almost certain the guy was a bit on the purple side.
Everything rushed back to Clayton all at once when the rock slipped from his hands and rolled over his foot.
The Arm tried to sit up, likely due to the very dignified and not remotely girly noise Clayton had made when the rock crushed his baby toe. Clayton forced himself to compartmentalize the pain and put a hand on the Arm’s shoulder, pushing him firmly to the ground. “Don’t get up yet.” The Arm gave Clayton’s hand alook.
“If you could teach me that look, I think my life would be very different than it is right now.” Clayton removed his hand slowly and made sure his other was where The Arm could see it. “But perhaps after I’ve taken care of your head injury?” The Arm touched a hand to his temple and winced.
Apparently, head injuries were popular today.
“I promise on my honor as,” Clayton’s eyes cut to where Eira was now awake and glaring weakly at him, “not precisely a guardian, but still a very useful member of the Guard, that I will do no harm to you while I treat your wound.”
The Arm locked his gaze on Clayton, and his world went funny at the edges again. The spell patch must be working overtime on him to make him so dizzy—or perhaps it wasthe addition of a newly broken toe. He’d need to get himself thoroughly checked when he got home.
Finally, The Arm nodded. “You may tend my injury.”
With very steady hands that weren’t even the slightest bit shaky from nerves, Clayton took out his crystal box and promptly dropped it.
Before it could shatter on the hard stone floor, a hand shot out and caught it.
“Your reflexes are excellent for someone with head trauma,” Clayton said as he plucked the box out of The Arm’s hand and pulled out another spell patch.
At this rate, he was going to need to run home for a refill soon. For someone with Clayton’s condition, being out in the world without adequate medical supplies was akin to a death sentence.
The Arm grunted noncommittally, eyes locked on Clayton with laser-like focus.
Which was in no way anxiety-inducing.
Once Clayton had finished putting the spell patch on The Arm’s head wound, he let out a tiny sigh of relief.
