Sorrel stood gratefully in the tight circle of Adasse's arms, eyes pressed closed, and thought of nothing at all. It was this moment, this simple warmth, that he would need later to be a bulwark against the terrible things, the fear, the panic. He tried to commit it to memory, like the impression of a mold.

"I love you, so much," He said, though it was muffled to a mumble in Adasse's shirt. They stayed like there, together, for a long count of ten. And then Sorrel opened his eyes.

And stiffened at what he saw around the curve of Adasse's shoulder, coming down the hall. Just one, a person— an elf. They were Sorrel's height, thin and dressed in robes, and trailing blood like a veil, clutching at their middle. Light fell across them as they drew nearer, a tortured, pained expression, and it was truly, truly unsettling to recognize his own face.

"Don't panic, I'm right here." He said quietly, beginning to feel the start of a hot, impulsive anger. How dare they? How dare they, "But there's something coming towards us. It's pretty bad. But I'm right here, love. Okay?"