"But--I need to be here," Burr says, and perhaps it is the fever, but his silver tongue is leaden, thoughts moving slow, sluggish. "I--tell him that--" who? "I've been turned out. He'll know--" He'll know the rest. And Burr is listing now, shaking visibly, so he goes to sit on the step, too-warm, mouth rushing with saliva, but he ends up more collapsed than anything, rolling warm skin against cool iron.
He needs to be let in. He can't be--they can't turn him away. He's meant to be here, isn't he? There's that pain there--more acute than that running through his body. He took the scent reducers and the other potions, but--
He's confused. He doesn't understand what's happening, or really where he is. He just needs to be here. He has to be here.
no subject
He needs to be let in. He can't be--they can't turn him away. He's meant to be here, isn't he? There's that pain there--more acute than that running through his body. He took the scent reducers and the other potions, but--
He's confused. He doesn't understand what's happening, or really where he is. He just needs to be here. He has to be here.