[This post is from Seamus’s point of view.]
“Thom! Thom, snap out of it!”
Seamus stopped dead in his tracks, shifting direction to job toward the sound of J.T.’s voice. The dark-haired healer was on his knees just outside the gates, trying to rouse Thom, who was slumped against his shoulder, eyes closed but the lids fluttering.
Seamus cursed under his breath. He could see the blood starting to drip from Thom’s nose from where he was and his jog turned into a run.
Not good. Very not good.
“What happened?”
He realized it was a stupid question as the words left his lips. Seamus dropped into a crouch on the other side of Thom, sliding his arm underneath the younger man. J.T. shot him a relieved look and started digging around in his pocket with the hand freed up by Seamus’s help.
“A vision, I think,” J.T. said, jamming a piece of gauze against Thom’s nose. “One second we were talking, then I look over and he’s not here anymore.” He shook his head, expression grim. “When I said something had to give eventually, I sure as hell didn’t mean this. This happens with Marin. Not usually him.”
That answers that. Seamus shook his head. “How long ago?”
“Only a couple of minutes.”
The beat of the drums was close enough that Seamus could feel it deep down. The scouts hadn’t returned.
I have a bad feeling about this.
“We need to close the gates,” Seamus said, starting to haul Thom upright. J.T. swore under his breath and quickly moved to help, the gauze still pressed against his friend’s nose and growing more and more red with each passing second. “Get forces up on the walls, be ready. They’re coming.”
“We don’t even know who they are,” J.T. said, his tone grim. Seamus took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.
“We don’t,” he agreed. “But when has that ever mattered?”
Either way, whatever was coming wasn’t friendly and they needed to be prepared for that.
“Let’s get inside,” Seamus said.
J.T. only nodded.
Together, the two men hauled Thom through the gates, to the relative safety of the walls. Seamus’s heart felt like lead in his chest, beating too sluggishly for comfort. He felt old.
For the first time in a while, he felt afraid.
