sunburn and fever dreams

The reaction was no less than what he expected. He could see the silent horror reflected in the other man's gaze. He could sense the distance between them, it's weight nothing to do with their physical proximity and everything to do with the walls of adamant going up between them. Cara would never fault Chip for it, just as he would never fault Chip for defending himself when it was necessary.  

He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as his keeper neared, stopping a considerable distance away. No risk for even an accidental grazing. He widened his stance on the hard packed sand as he attempted to steady his posture. It wouldn't take any more than a light nudge for him to pass out from the lack of oxygen going to his brain. He was holding his breath tightly, lips having clamped firmly after he whispered the lament. Chip was asking him for help. Help from the man who, albeit by proxy for a wrathful god, had leveled the very village they now stood amidst. 

Carasson could see how hard it was for the other man to ask. Nevermind, the humility it took to ask for help in the first place, but to ask it from someone you could barely look in the eye. His face paled further as Chip shifted, the fear and anxiety consuming his features, fear spurred on by the presence of his tormentor, the man who placed him on death's doormat without so much of a thought. Realizing that one of them would need to act progressively, Cara nodded firmly, silver rimming his amber hued irises as emotion flooded him. He wanted to laugh at the poorly timed joke but now simply wasn't the time. How long would it be before they could enjoy things so simple as corny humor again? 

Or was that even possible? Only if you can be patient with me. I don't know the limits of that power yet. Or it's finer properties, as it was a practice he'd only briefly acquired as a means to and end. He'd never spent much time nurturing that skill. But he cleared his throat and turned, hating that he would put his back to Xochipilli again. That it was necessary was the only comfort he would glean, because none of this was comforting to him. 

Standing over a flat swath of earth, he closed his eyes and focused beginning to maneuver his hand for the spell he knew to displace dirt and rock alike. His other hand lay over the center of his chest where a pendant now hung against his skin beneath his tunic. Since his emancipation, the lone pendant in the rough hewn shape of a sunburst flame now served as a conduit of sorts for the power he'd become dissociated with in his possession. Having Falon'Din's talons sunk in for so long, controlling that power for so long, had turned his power unresponsive. Almost as if it had forgotten who he was when they were free to connect again. Slowly it came back but not without some help. A divot started to appear in the ground before him and Carasson focused on it intently afraid of what he might see if he looked up.