he doesn’t expect to be a part of it: a hesitant look to beau, and yasha, and veth, and fjord, and caduceus reflects back an uncomfortable truth---other than caduceus on his knees by her body, the others still can’t move from their grief and terror. caleb knows of the ritual ( only a body in ash and dust and ruin is truly dead, bren; anything else can still be brought back ) but not fully its limits, and he can’t take the chance waiting---and not for the first time, he takes a step forward, feels the emotion leave his body to where he stood, and acts. they’re better for her, his sentiment wants to cry out, just enough to carve the look in his eyes hollow and fragile, to turn his hands ice-cold as he dances on the edge of shock; yes, but none of them has a plan yet.
eyes never leave jester as he pulls a little item from a pocket by his components---mechanically; instinctually; if he believed to be worthy of it, as if aided by something divine; he the symbol of the archeart, not touched for a year gone past, lands on his fingers without looking, gently turned in his fingers once, twice. ( an illegal god---of magic. of fey. of the woman he never learnt the name of in the asylum who cleared the mind of a sunken stranger for no benefit of her own. ) he knows little of divinity, of the politics of godhood, how one connects to the other; his eyes lock on the symbol of her god, her archfey, and from desperation, a plea emerges: “ i don’t know if you can help me. ” the inhale in order to continue speaking is torturous. “ but help someone who can. help someone who can help her. ”
the symbol is laid on a chest so still and void of her bubbling emotions it feels unnatural in of itself, gently as he can with shaking, cold hands---and he backs away for someone else to save her life. beauregard reaches out for him, but he walks past, face blank; only behind her, once she’s stepped closer, his legs finally give out.
@pharosled have caleb’s side for the resurrection thing.
