She's turning, dragging him along, and he tries to keep up, but his steps are awkward in the uncertain footing, the fog masking whatever path might be ahead. They could be running toward water, or a cliff, or into the range of some terrible new enemy, and his heart is still sore, its beat erratic in his chest. "You're going too fast!"

The prospect of losing her to the fog is more terrifying than anything they might be barrelling into, but he's slipping, stumbling, fearful for the first time ever that she'll simply cut him loose and leave him behind if he can't keep the pace. "Sciel, slow down!"