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Alessio was talking, but Nithel didn’t understand. It was all a blur. Too many impossible things happening in the same hours, or was it days? His stomach was sick. Nothing, nothing made sense.

More speech. But the world was swirling. He felt sick. Raised from the dead. Fire. Dragon. Metal dragon. Lava. Moving rooms. People. Books. Mirror. Death. Pain. Talking talking talking. He wanted to go into a corner. He wanted to scream, and cry. To beat the wall. To press his face to the stone, press himself to the ground and weep. He wanted to run, but he’d just told Alessio not to do that. He wanted Mihael, but he would not see her again.

Talking talking. He felt like throwing up. Few words got through. Alessio taking control. Skills? Nothing. Nothing good for war. He can entertain children. Chop wood. Shoot; at least Gabrel said he had a good arm. Track. Carve. Start fires. The average man. Except, he hated water. Nithel ground his teeth, rubbing his head as he stumbled back into a wall, something firm. Somthing that wouldn’t move, or hadn’t yet. He slid down, sitting, breathing. His chest was moving miles a minute. Too fast. His head felt like someone was beating it.

His long hair fell over his shoulders, matted on his head as well. He rubbed his head, shutting his eyes, then opening them. Thinking. His mind ran, but his eyes stared at nothing.

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@this-is-not-an-alien CATHY!!! Hi. It’s good to be back. (:

@irishcelticredflowercrown @joelle-stone @skylarynn @crazywriter @millenium