when you try your best but you don't succeed

The cold bite of the air was overpowered by the reek of blood, thick enough to clog Ronan's throat. He followed the smears across the ice and recognised an exhausted effort to drag bleeding dead weight. It didn't take long for him to catch up, and as he approached he found himself wishing that he hadn't, that he was the sort to turn a blind eye to such things. To her.

Padding over, he didn't make any scathing comments, no I told you so's sneered from his lips, because what could he even say? They'd spoke of her family and even with the blood he could catch the resemblance, that Makara couldn't leave her behind. She should have though; Ronan was no medic, but even he could see that she was in no condition to be putting any weight on her leg. That she didn't have much left in her.

Most days Ronan felt that way too. A distant sense of self settled upon him, his mind and body moving on autopilot, because if he gave up now what was it all for? His mind immediately went to logistics, he didn't think he'd be able to carry them both but he would work something out, always did.

"Makara." He said, a blank expression set on his features, tension had his shoulders hunched slightly as he took to standing beside her. "Lean on me. I will carry her."