( As strange as it may seem, Jack can feel it. The presence of the thing is like an itch, like an awareness. He doesn't have to see it to know that it's there, the backs of his eyes know, the hair on the back of his neck knows. Even when the wind whips up to obscure the rustling chains, he knows that it is passing by, and that it will See.
Kyle is there, in the open. Right there in the parting of the trees where it will pass, direct line of sight.
For a skinny guy who's about two sneezes away from toppling over, he musters a probably surprising amount of strength. Not a lot of coordination to go with it, granted, but whatever, it's enough — he surges forward to grip Kyle by the forearms, to pull, tugging the guy until they both go toppling back into the snow.
Maybe it's that nap in the Horizon still lingering, those few hours of strength afforded to him by the touch there. The gentle reprieve from symptoms giving him just enough strength to drag them both behind a concave mound of white, fluffy snowfall. )
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Kyle is there, in the open. Right there in the parting of the trees where it will pass, direct line of sight.
For a skinny guy who's about two sneezes away from toppling over, he musters a probably surprising amount of strength. Not a lot of coordination to go with it, granted, but whatever, it's enough — he surges forward to grip Kyle by the forearms, to pull, tugging the guy until they both go toppling back into the snow.
Maybe it's that nap in the Horizon still lingering, those few hours of strength afforded to him by the touch there. The gentle reprieve from symptoms giving him just enough strength to drag them both behind a concave mound of white, fluffy snowfall. )