He's in sorry shape, Jael's gaze resting on him for a long moment. Croaking voice, rough shape. She couldn't let him see her worry, right? She could only let that lower lip tremble away from where he could see it. He's still Gil. He's still alive. That's what Jael clings to now, even if things are rough inside her head. Anxieties taking different shape, different worries rattling around between her ears.
She's quick to return with water, quick as she can be when she's this round, setting it down beside Gil's head. Gently, Jael reaches out to run her claws through the mats in his fur. Places he can't reach, softly teasing apart the places where dirt had collected. Behind his ears, around his crystals. It's careful, tender. "Did you need something up here, or did you miss your own bed?" The words are gentle, a little humor hanging in them as well.
As her keepers, Gilgamesh and Modesty may join any of Jael’s threads if they deem necessary.
Professor
