Dec 16, 2019
Diemen is barely conscious and you have never been more terrified in your life.
You're no mediculler, far from it, and you've never seen a troll this sick before. He's breathing shallowly, making these desperate, pitiable clicks and whines that leave your bloodpusher stuttering in your thoracic cage. You don't know what to do. You don't know what to do.
You smooth Diemen's hair back from his forehead, your breath catching in your throat as he leans into the touch. If he hadn't messaged you before he'd collapsed... if you hadn't gotten worried and followed his palmhusk's signal... You don't want to think about it. You don't know what you'd do without him, you-- you're-- fuck.
