Without a paddle

You’re doing good. Abyss’ gaze flicked up toward Iskandor, their eyes dull and hazed over- they couldn’t see the boy, but there was a look of recognition in their features. Digging their paws deeper into the soil, Abyss claws their way upward, pulling their belly from the ground. The sharp tinge of pain bites into every inch of their body, their legs trembling beneath their weight, as they nearly topple back over.

Stand. The world around them is tilting in and out of focus, another violent wave of nausea rolling inside of their belly. Stay standing. Their breath was hitching in shallow bursts, the look of defeat spreading across their face as they start to sink back down.

They’d never felt so broken before. So weak. So useless.

But before they hit the ground, Iskandor was swooping in- shoving himself between the Abyss and the earth, sweeping them onto his back in a swift, decisive motion. It felt so seamless and fluid—he didn’t give them the chance to falter or protest.

Abyss didn’t realize what happened until the warmth of his body surrounded them- a cocoon of strength and resolve Abyss wished they could mirror. Hold on tight, don’t fall. His voice was calling to them again, and Abyss growled a grunt of understanding.

Their jaws unhinged next, and they grabbed onto his scruff with enough pressure to hold on tight, but not break skin. Their front legs shifted, draping over his shoulders to wrap around his robust chest. Abyss pulled themselves in tight, bracing themselves for what was to come.

With Abyss situated on his back, Iskandor shot off with alarming speed. A rush of air brushed against their face, the rhythm of his movement bouncing Abyss around but they held on, as instructed. Each step he took was a pulse of power, a promise that they would escape the danger together or die trying.

-exit-

"Speech"