"Spock -" she shouts, and if the creature were corporeal, maybe she would've fired on it. (Probably she would have fired on it.)
Instead, she rushes over to him, phaser shoved in its holster as she reaches out to steady him. There's a sickly familiarity to putting an arm around him, one that has nothing to do with Spock himself. "What is it? What's going on."
"Pain," he drawls. It's the only salient fact, the only information worth sharing.
The mist thickens, pushed deeper into the cave by another gust of howling wind. It makes the skin tingle, makes the senses sharpen and stretch. Spock tries to clear his mind, but keeps coming back to that anguish- "pain, Ortega."
It's not enough to go on. What's she supposed to do with an icy mist that got hurt? But she can feel the hairs on her arms rising, as much from the eeriness as the chill, and maybe that's as close as she can get to feeling what he does. Childhood stories of La Llorona wandering the night - that's what it's like.
Whatever it is, it doesn't mean them harm. She closes her free hand around Spock's elbow, telling herself it's to keep him on his feet. "How do we stop it?"
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Instead, she rushes over to him, phaser shoved in its holster as she reaches out to steady him. There's a sickly familiarity to putting an arm around him, one that has nothing to do with Spock himself. "What is it? What's going on."
no subject
The mist thickens, pushed deeper into the cave by another gust of howling wind. It makes the skin tingle, makes the senses sharpen and stretch. Spock tries to clear his mind, but keeps coming back to that anguish- "pain, Ortega."
no subject
Whatever it is, it doesn't mean them harm. She closes her free hand around Spock's elbow, telling herself it's to keep him on his feet. "How do we stop it?"