The silence after Celeste's collapse is a heavy, suffocating thing. The only sounds are the labored breathing of the exhausted horses and the soft, almost imperceptible hum of the wisp lights, which seem to be pressing in on us, their cold, indifferent light a constant, silent reminder of the danger that surrounds us.
Lucas is kneeling beside Celeste, one hand on her forehead, the other on her wrist. His face is a mask of intense concentration, his brow furrowed with worry. "She's just exhausted." He says, his voice a low, reassuring murmur. "She'll be fine. She just needs to rest."
He scoops her up as if she weighs nothing, her head lolling against his shoulder, her body limp and lifeless. He carries her to the back of the wagon and gently lays her down on a pile of blankets, covering her with a thick woolen cloak.
May watches him, her big blue eyes wide with a mixture of fear and concern. "Is she okay?" She asks, her voice a small, worried whisper.
