Have patience, Alice. Opportunities for rest are few and far in between during instances such as these.
[ Not that he, of course, is resting. Having set foot upon the platform in second place (and truth be told, he hadn't needed to forfeit the race—a gap had formed between the two parties, brought about by Aisha's physical prowess and the King's many pauses given to casting magic, and even if he had sorely tried, no power in this realm could have helped him to bridge it!), Sion had shifted to help Caren find her feet before moving on himself. With a roll of his shoulders, he focuses keenly upon the way that they ache, his feet carrying him through the passageway before them and into the tower itself, for this is one of the many ways he suppresses the darkness within himself:
He cannot stop walking forward.
(Alice, perhaps, knows this best: Will you stop?!, she'd demanded of him, once upon a time. ]
We will need the whole of our strength for the trials to come. [ And then he is standing upon another ledge, the regal plait of his hair tumbling over his shoulder as he peers down, the tips of his boots courting the weathered edge of stone in his observation. ] ...it is hollow.
[ His eyes flick up, making a quick study of the stairwells which spiral ever-higher into the tower—could they support his weight? Alice's? Caren's? ]
no subject
Have patience, Alice. Opportunities for rest are few and far in between during instances such as these.
[ Not that he, of course, is resting. Having set foot upon the platform in second place (and truth be told, he hadn't needed to forfeit the race—a gap had formed between the two parties, brought about by Aisha's physical prowess and the King's many pauses given to casting magic, and even if he had sorely tried, no power in this realm could have helped him to bridge it!), Sion had shifted to help Caren find her feet before moving on himself. With a roll of his shoulders, he focuses keenly upon the way that they ache, his feet carrying him through the passageway before them and into the tower itself, for this is one of the many ways he suppresses the darkness within himself:
He cannot stop walking forward.
(Alice, perhaps, knows this best: Will you stop?!, she'd demanded of him, once upon a time. ]
We will need the whole of our strength for the trials to come. [ And then he is standing upon another ledge, the regal plait of his hair tumbling over his shoulder as he peers down, the tips of his boots courting the weathered edge of stone in his observation. ] ...it is hollow.
[ His eyes flick up, making a quick study of the stairwells which spiral ever-higher into the tower—could they support his weight? Alice's? Caren's? ]
And we've a ways yet to climb.