The Living Should Live

Emile's ear flicked as a light pattering sound reached him and his turned his attention towards the sound, golden droplets of something hitting the ground and he frowned, why did it look so much like the fluids that oozed from the faces and wounds of the infected? He tried to trace it as it got closer, jumping when a voice suddenly echoed off the walls, achingly familiar. For a moment he pushed it off as just another voice, but as he peered at the golden droplets something shifted, he could just make out a figure, nearly invisible in the dark but as he traced it up he knew, even if he couldn't see her exactly Resin was here... Somehow. "R-r-r-esin? He asked, though he knew the answer.

Emile shook his head. "Ssssssso much." He said, barely above a whisper, but he forced himself to lift his voice and push back the feelings of pain so deep in his heart. "Bbbbbbbut things got-t-t-t-t weird afffffter... Aaaaaand so many-many-many-many wolves are sssssssick, and I can't do-do-do-do anything!" He shook his head, trying to shake the tears welling at the corners of his eyes. What if his father didn't make it? He wasn't sure what meager resolve he had would hold. "Iiiiiiit's all these th-th-th-thing's fault!" A sudden feeling of anger went over him and he kicked at the crystal which pulsed brighter for a moment but otherwise remained unmoving, unfeeling. Unhelping.



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