Balthier was twirling a small, golden feather between his fingers. I watched distantly, the haze of unconciousness clearing slowly with the help of the sun and the crisp breeze.
"The Estersand, by the look of it. Let's back to Rabanastre before we shrivel up." Then, "By your leave, Captain."
I hadn't realized I was resting on his legs until he moved, leaving me on the soft, warm sand.
I wasn't entirely sure how to react, so I stayed on my back, blinking at the sky.
"Give him a potion or something, he's worse than a drunk," Balthier muttered.
Hands on my shoulders, and a wave of white hair-- Fran.
"Please drink," she murmured, pressing the vial to my lips. I couldn't help but wonder why she was giving it to me, when he was the one who carried me and let me rest on him.
Then I swallowed, and shoved the thought from my head.