[ It is the impending doom of a collision which looms over the soldier, the King, slow-approaching and unavoidable both. Even if Sion were to put forth his best, his mightiest effort, he could never hope to contest the pull on his hair built by Potemkin's momentum, the man's raw strength, and so he can only embrace this truth: wherever it is a man's hair goes, he goes too.
In this case, he goes forward, and rather than allow for himself to be slowly reeled in by what seems to be Potemkin's own gravitational pull, Sion swims, bridging the distance between himself and the other man with an effortless glide through the water to...! Clutch to one of Potemkin's arms, his golden eyes fixed upon the strands of hair which have formed manacles about the man.
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In this case, he goes forward, and rather than allow for himself to be slowly reeled in by what seems to be Potemkin's own gravitational pull, Sion swims, bridging the distance between himself and the other man with an effortless glide through the water to...! Clutch to one of Potemkin's arms, his golden eyes fixed upon the strands of hair which have formed manacles about the man.
Truly, this is a mess. ]
Can you not untangle yourself, Potemkin?