It’s infuriatingly vulnerable, needing someone’s assistance simply to stand. When you’re the one accustomed to doing the healing, or best case scenario being the one who swoops in all laissez-faire derring-do and fluttering cloak and heroism.
But Strange eventually slings his non-anchored arm onto Cedric’s shoulder, scrabbling to brace against the other man, let the templar carry some of his weight. He feels—
not weak, not wounded, but winded. As if he’s been running a marathon just trying to hold this thing at bay. All of his awareness funnelled down to his palm, his hand, his existence a single scream. Previous, smaller rifts have been a piece of cake compared to this. Baby rifts.
He wishes, not for the first time, that Gwenaëlle were here with her anchor expertise. Can still hear her voice: Mine is almost certainly bigger than yours.
“Have you done one of these before?” he asks. Panting breath, squeezed out in a vise and gritted teeth.
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But Strange eventually slings his non-anchored arm onto Cedric’s shoulder, scrabbling to brace against the other man, let the templar carry some of his weight. He feels—
not weak, not wounded, but winded. As if he’s been running a marathon just trying to hold this thing at bay. All of his awareness funnelled down to his palm, his hand, his existence a single scream. Previous, smaller rifts have been a piece of cake compared to this. Baby rifts.
He wishes, not for the first time, that Gwenaëlle were here with her anchor expertise. Can still hear her voice: Mine is almost certainly bigger than yours.
“Have you done one of these before?” he asks. Panting breath, squeezed out in a vise and gritted teeth.