"Yorshka, doth thee needeth rest? We hath journeyed far." Gwyndolin asked breathlessly, exhaustion lacing his already weak voice. He was sick beyond belief and this escape didn't help him to make it better. He can only thank the Unkindled One, his last Darkmoon Blade, for letting him know of Sulyvahn's plans to feed him to the abysmal sludge, Aldrich.
He was able to get Yorshka and himself out of harm's way before the tyrants had even prepared to march to the twilight city. They could have the city. There was nothing to gain from it when there were no illusions to conceal its fading glory.
The illusions had become harder and harder to keep up. They were the reason why he had even fallen ill. He wasn't his father nor his mother; he couldn't exert himself like they could, but that didn't mean he didn't try to. Hadn't he already disappointed his Father Gwyn enough?
"No, dear brother. I do not need a rest. But you..." Yorshka placed her frail hand on Gwyndolin's helm, her big, doe eyes full of worry. She was tired too; the moon child could see that clearly. Yorshka was the same as him in terms of physical capabilities, albeit she possessed the power to destroy beings like him, making her far more dangerous than he could ever be, admittedly.
"I am fine. Mine energy is just..." He trailed off, holding his chest and having a brief coughing fit. He checked his hand after finally being able to catch his breath. Luckily, there wasn't a lot of blood this time. He didn't allow Yorshka to see it, casting a petty illusion in mere seconds to cover the small red splatters on the white silk.
He didn't need to, for there were many other blood splatters on the both of them, from running and falling in dangerous plains or from fighting the monsters and restless souls that lied beyond the formerly comfortable and peaceful borders of Anor Londo, yet he felt the need to protect her innocence and shower her in blissful ignorance, even if it meant tricking her with his illusions. She couldn't know this world as it was now. She couldn't know what he's known, seen what he's seen. Illusions were second nature and a habit at this point.
"Mine energy is just...I needeth time to recover."
"Then we could rest here, brother...I see a cave nearby and-"
"No. We are not out of the web yet. Rest comes when our safety is more than assured. Come, we've wasted enough time slacking in pace." Gwyndolin straightened his form and found new resolve. His sickness would not be his downfall.
He gestured for her to climb upon his back. She did so without question, burying her face in his neck. Ignoring the pain in every fiber of his body, he readied an arrow in his trusted bow, resuming their trek to safety from Sulyvahn's clutches.
He would protect Yorshka, even sacrifice his own life to extend hers. He promised her and her father, his exiled brother, that much.