[It's not unlike him to sleep in snatches and last night was no different, shivering to half-consciousness, hazily puzzling over the heat prickling his back and deciding it's Abel before dropping off again. But only approaching dawn - something that troubles him, when he's properly awake - does a niggling sense of off-ness reach him deep enough to shake him out of whatever false sense of safety and comfort that Hector, of all people, lulled him into. He knows Abel, and flowing through its body isn't a warm breath or a single drop of blood, but the cold magic of the devil's art.
Isaac's body gives a little jerk when he wakes, staring at the same wall he fell asleep to. It's a lighter shade of gray now, like Abel's scuted hide; outside, day is breaking, but it seems neither of them are in any great hurry. He lies very still under the tingling touch to the back of his head, lies like he used to, breath bitten back and a dagger in his hand, only feigning sleep - to the shifting of fabric and flesh, his skin prickling. Hector doesn't touch him again. Instead, he feels magic wash over him, cool and calming, a leeching of pain from his muscles. The tension knotting them, however, is there to stay.
To Hector, he says nothing. But he climbs to his feet with hollow-eyed determination, not looking his way, and in a single movement answers several questions. It takes a moment for the dizziness to pass from swinging up off the ground, though when his vision steadies and the fog in his head thins, the only thing that feels real, that assures him he isn't sleeping still, is the brisk morning chill and the heaviness in his bladder. When he pisses off to the side, he neither turns away nor makes a show of it, finishing with a shake and tucking himself away before he moves to gather his weapons. He glances to the cave entrance where Hector and his fairy happen to be waiting. He'll meet his gaze sternly, with shoulders squared, fingers squeezing and unsqueezing around the hilt of his sword.
Abel rejoins him.]
Do you sense them near? [He'll duck out, squinting, into the pale, silvery light before waiting too long for an answer, meaning to get a read on their immediate surroundings himself.]
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Isaac's body gives a little jerk when he wakes, staring at the same wall he fell asleep to. It's a lighter shade of gray now, like Abel's scuted hide; outside, day is breaking, but it seems neither of them are in any great hurry. He lies very still under the tingling touch to the back of his head, lies like he used to, breath bitten back and a dagger in his hand, only feigning sleep - to the shifting of fabric and flesh, his skin prickling. Hector doesn't touch him again. Instead, he feels magic wash over him, cool and calming, a leeching of pain from his muscles. The tension knotting them, however, is there to stay.
To Hector, he says nothing. But he climbs to his feet with hollow-eyed determination, not looking his way, and in a single movement answers several questions. It takes a moment for the dizziness to pass from swinging up off the ground, though when his vision steadies and the fog in his head thins, the only thing that feels real, that assures him he isn't sleeping still, is the brisk morning chill and the heaviness in his bladder. When he pisses off to the side, he neither turns away nor makes a show of it, finishing with a shake and tucking himself away before he moves to gather his weapons. He glances to the cave entrance where Hector and his fairy happen to be waiting. He'll meet his gaze sternly, with shoulders squared, fingers squeezing and unsqueezing around the hilt of his sword.
Abel rejoins him.]
Do you sense them near? [He'll duck out, squinting, into the pale, silvery light before waiting too long for an answer, meaning to get a read on their immediate surroundings himself.]