There's a part of Joel that wants to tell them both to shut up, to stop talking and focus their energy on swimming so they can get away from this thing that's in the water with them. But he doesn't, he only swims as hard as he can toward shore, muttering incantations under his breath, spitting out salt water in between. The water gets darker and murkier the more sand is pulled up from the ocean floor with his words and it's not much, it's barely a spell at all, but he can only hope it will help. It's something, but he wishes more than anything he had a weapon instead.
They're both injured. There's blood in the water, he can taste it whenever a wave hits him in the face and it worries him. He has nothing with him, nothing with any magical properties that he can use to stop the bleeding once he has them on shore -- because he will get them to shore, he doesn't allow himself to think otherwise -- and there's only his sweater, sitting up there somewhere on the sand. It's not enough.
"Come on," he grinds out through gritted teeth, as if that will somehow make them magically arrive in the shallows any quicker.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-05-23 03:36 am (UTC)They're both injured. There's blood in the water, he can taste it whenever a wave hits him in the face and it worries him. He has nothing with him, nothing with any magical properties that he can use to stop the bleeding once he has them on shore -- because he will get them to shore, he doesn't allow himself to think otherwise -- and there's only his sweater, sitting up there somewhere on the sand. It's not enough.
"Come on," he grinds out through gritted teeth, as if that will somehow make them magically arrive in the shallows any quicker.