Camping while in the midst of the ruins is less than restful. Droullin stares down at her versebook, trying to make out any hint of encouraging words in the waning firelight. It is a lost cause, but she is not willing to give up, because she doesn't know what else to do. The darkness of the passageway seems like a physical weight upon her. Without the Flame to protect her, she fears she will be crushed.
And there are also, of course, the noises. The ruins are rarely silent. Whether it be distant wails of agony or chilling, hidden laughter, there is always some haunting assault upon Droullin's ears. She tries to drown it out by praying aloud, but there is a finite number of ways to ask for deliverance, while horror is infinite.
A shriek splits the air concerningly close by, and Droullin shudders.
"Are you cold?" asks a familiar voice, and the vestal looks up to find Vitalis watching her in that heavy, piercing way she has. Droullin wonders how long she has been staring.
No, she's about to reply, but halfway through the thought she realizes that it would be a lie. She's just grown so used to the chill of the ruins that she's learned to contain the awareness in the back of her mind. Now that she has acknowledged it, it comes rushing back at full force, and she shivers.
"Yes," she admits.
Wordlessly, Vitalis crawls closer and deposits herself on the bedroll next to the vestal. She offers her arm. Droullin nods, and next thing she knows, she is enveloped by the warmth that radiates from the hellion's corded body. The chill in her bones dissipates like a memory, and she leans into Vitalis gratefully.
As comfortable as she is, familiar anxiety still prickles at the back of her mind. She has not been this close to another person in ages. It is improper, but she tells herself it is only necessary. The Flame cannot physically keep her warm, after all, no matter how closely she pursues it.
She rests her head on Vitalis's shoulder and lets the warmth chase away her doubts.
…