Not even twenty minutes later, Jane's legs had betrayed her a third time.
She'd been carrying wood for the fire. Despite her undeniably worsening condition, the idea of being idle while the others made camp had honestly never even occurred to her.
She'd gathered one armful of branches, deposited it in the place that had been designated for the campfire, and after a moment's internal debate, had decided that she'd felt good enough – well, okay enough – to venture back into the trees for another load. The sudden, completely debilitating sense of weakness and vertigo that had come over her while dismounting had passed, at least for the time being – or so she'd thought.
She'd been only steps away from the fire pit, bearing a second armload of wood, when it had happened again. And this time there'd been nothing for her to grab onto, no way to keep herself from falling. One instant she'd been walking and the next she'd been sitting on the ground, the branches she'd collected spilling out of her arms, more shocked than anything else, really. It had just been so abrupt! Without any warning at all the earth had simply pitched to one side and then… and then she'd been sitting there. Stunned.
And then – of course – had come Gunther.
She'd been staring, stupidly, down at the scattered branches, trying with only very limited success to make sense of what had just happened. Her very thought processes had seemed to be slowing down. And she'd realized, on a distant level, that this should be really alarming. But, probably because her thought processes were slowing down, she simply couldn't find it in herself to be alarmed.
Cold. That was what she'd mostly felt, she'd realized dully. Cold and getting colder every minute. Was it just that night was falling? Or was –
And then Gunther's boots had been filling her field of vision, and then he'd been down on one knee right in front of her.
"Damn it, Jane." He'd sounded tired, very tired – and entirely fed up. "What – "
"I tripped," she'd blurted, loudly, almost frantically, cutting him off. "I had the wood piled up too high, I could not see where I was going, it – "
"Jane."
" – must have been a root, I just did not s– "
"Jane. Jane."
It had been her turn, then, to trail off. She'd raised her eyes to meet his for the first time, unconsciously biting on her lip as she did so. She'd tasted blood, and had a moment of disorientation. How long ago had it been, that she'd bitten her lip ragged while yanking out that arrow? Could it only have been a matter of hours, truly? It felt as if a decade had passed.
Forcing herself to meet Gunther's eyes had been hard, but nothing could have prepared her for what she'd seen in them when she did.
He hadn't really been looking at her at all. It was more as if he'd been… looking right through her. Not into her – that was a very important distiction to make. No, not into her, as though he could see what was really going on, but through her, as though he weren't actually seeing her at all - and didn't care to. Through her as though she were starting to not even be real to him anymore; as though he were in the process of detatching himself from her completely.
No! Her mind had cried frantically, silently. No, Gunther, do not do that, do not pull away, please, please, I need you now, more than I ever have, can you not see that!? How can you not SEE that!?
She'd been hurting so badly, on every conceivable level, and deep down, way deep down, she realized she'd been waiting for him to see that, to recognize it, and to do something about it.
But of course he hadn't seen it, because she'd made a deliberate decision to conceal it from him. The fault had been hers, entirely – she'd had no right to feel betrayed by his blindness.
But that hadn't stopped her from feeling it.
And that had all been before he'd even spoken.