[There's a lull, a sensation of water receding and then washing back up - the even, rhythmic push and pull of some small wave at the edge of some distant, alien tide pool.
The warmth of Carata's hand on the back of his neck--]
( No. I'm okay. )
[Dull. Strip everything that stings and put it somewhere else.]
no subject
The warmth of Carata's hand on the back of his neck--]
( No. I'm okay. )
[Dull. Strip everything that stings and put it somewhere else.]