It took many minutes of focus for the figure to take on any distinct characteristics, though it didn't help that Killian was much more intent on identifying what source there could be for the constant noise that now filled his ears. That, he surmised, was much more likely to be a real product of his environment, as opposed to whatever hallucination his frayed mind had conjured up. Slowing his ragged breaths, he focused on the steady tinkling noise until it took on a sharpened quality. No, not tinkling, he realized … trickling. That was a much more accurate description, and if something was trickling, it was most likely to be -
He grunted with the effort it took to turn his head, digging a jagged trench in the ground with his chin as he craned his neck to the right. The movement caught his attention before his mind could ascertain what it was, or more importantly, what it meant. Less than ten meters before him, a rock wall stood sentry. A steady stream cascaded from its peak - hardly of a height taller than the average man - into the depths below. And if the water was plummeting into such depths, that meant that there was enough of it that it formed …
Killian's body moved faster than his mind, as he expended the last dredgings of energy his battered body could conjure to drag himself forward inch by merciless inch. Every movement sent a shockwave of agony through his strained muscles that could only be ignored by the knowledge of the prize that was within reach. Killian knew he had triumphed when, with a final heave, he dug his knuckles into the moistened soil - now transformed into a gritty sand - and hauled his body forward enough so that he could see the faintest glow of his reflection cast by the moonlit noct in the waters below. Greedily he thrust his cupped hands into the clear pool; ignoring the murky cloud the grime of his own filth created, he didn't even pause to allow it to clear before scooping the cool life-saving liquid to his parched lips. A laugh that wouldn't be called entirely sane escaped the bard's throat in between hurried gulps.
He didn't slow until the burning in his throat had mostly subsided, and his muddled mind at last began to clear, albeit only by a trivial margin.
"You should at least wash the dirt from your hands before drinking."
Her voice came as a soft melody; a sharp contrast from the grating tones of the other specters. Nonetheless, it would do him no good to heed the critiques of a phantom. Killian took one final, long draught from the pool before painfully raising himself to his knees. He tested each of his joints slowly, wincing at the instant pain that ran through his arm as he flexed the fingers on his right hand. Something was definitely broken, he could tell from the feeling of the bones within grinding against one another, along with the beginning traces of a throbbing purple swell.
Using his left arm, he pushed up from his knees to his feet. Gratefully, he found it not too unbearable to stand. Slowly but surely, he limped his way over to where Thorian now lay, wobbling every few careful steps with the sudden dizziness that overtook him.
"Best be careful, you've hit your head hard in the fall."
"Watch all that, did you?" Killian muttered in irritation, keeping his focus on Thorian. He was unsure why he was even entertaining the vision.
"No. I only arrived a short time ago."
"Then how would you know?" Killian snapped, dropping to his knees before his fallen nephew.
"Because you've blood on your temple."
Killian raised three careful fingers from his good hand to the left side of his head. He blinked in surprise when what he pulled away with wasn't the stain of mud, but a dark and sticky crimson. As if on cue, the throb in his head became noticeable once more.
"That would explain what bore you from the aether, then." Killian retorted.
"I am not quite sure I understand you." Spoke the voice, though the bard did his utmost to ignore it.
Wiping his hand across his tattered trousers, he set to work looking over Thorian's condition. From what could be seen, he was in a terrible state. His youthful face, once filled with vigor, was now a pallid complexion complete with dirt, sweat, and blood that leeched out from several cuts and matted his once blonde hair to his forehead. An ugly bruise the size of a clenched fist took up most of his right cheek. His breaths, when they came, were in shallow, uneven gasps. No doubt his wound had reopened - all Killian had to do was glance down to find his hunch correct. He first set to work replacing the makeshift tourniquet as best he could with the rags that remained to them.
"That man is badly wounded." Spoke the melodious voice.
Killian attempted to tighten the cloth bound to Thorian's injured thigh. After a spear of pain reminded him of the uselessness of his right hand, he resorted to yanking it taut with one end in his left hand and the other clenched between his teeth. Though his jaw pulsed with agony at the absence of his tooth, it was more functional than his limb. Upon relinquishing the cloth from his mouth, Killian could see the fresh crimson stain his gums had imparted upon it. Raising himself once more, he positioned himself behind his nephew's shoulders, clenching a fistful of his tattered shirt in his good hand.
"He is likely to die in such a state, you know. It is a mortal injury."
Digging his heels into the moistened ground, Killian began to tug, "He will mend. We've been overcome by a terrible thirst, we only need a drink."
Even before it spoke, he could sense the skepticism in the voice of the apparition. Frustratingly so, he could no longer even convince himself of the lie.
"Even if it was so, you are in no condition to tend to him."
Killian was on the verge of retort, when the slickness of the mud caused his footing to give way. As he slipped and toppled into the muck flat on his back, he gasped at the quake of suffering that shook through his entire body. Once the stars cleared from his vision, he realized that he had maintained his grasp on Thorian. Raising his hand close enough in front of his face that he could see in the dim moonlight, Killian's heart sank as he saw what remained of his nephew's tattered garment clutched in his fist. Trembling, he raised his head to see the bare, pale figure of his nephew with no longer a scrap of cloth to cover his feeble form above the navel.
Thorian had not stirred, appearing no different than any corpse Killian had seen on the beach.
His vision blurred then, and using the last of his reserves, he rose a third time to a crawl and turned back towards the pool.
"Please," Killian choked, inching forward to the shore on his knees.
"How can I be of aid?"
Killian was taken aback at the sympathy of the specter. It was a trait his ghosts rarely bothered him with. At last, he raised his head to view his visitor. She came to him slowly at first; a dark shadow perched upon a rock. Then, the pale moonlight illuminated her visage despite the darkness of noct and his own tears' attempts at concealing it.
She sat, ankles crossed, on a rock that rose from the pool not ten meters from where Killian knelt. She was young - at least a few roats younger than he - from what could be gleaned by her slender stature and the fairness of her skin. Besides a waterfall of brown hair that fell from her shoulders to just past her chest and a large fur hide she held around her torso, she was completely bare. But what struck Killian the most was her face. Not because of her incredible beauty, but because of the unfathomable grief within her expression.
Rarely had Killian met a face capable of so much sympathy, and never before had he encountered one that had made him its focus. With a shuddering breath he gazed into the depths of her sorrowful brown eyes and spoke before he knew he would.
"A draught, I beg of you, help my nephew to the water's edge." Killian wept.
A single tear trailed down the cheek of the ghost as she shook her head mournfully, "I cannot step from the spring, so I cannot aid him to the water edge, though perhaps this may help you."
Reaching within the folds of the massive fur, the girl pulled a small object from her breast and bent to the water's edge. Gingerly, she set the object afloat and gently pushed it towards the shore. Killian carefully picked it up with both hands, confusion nearly giving into despair as he saw that all that he held was a large, flat clamshell. Then, the intention dawned on him all at once. With shaking hands he held the shell beneath the pool, filling its basin with water.
With agonizing care he rose; moving to Thorian's side, he tipped the shell to Thorian's lips.
"There is an herbalist who lives close to this spring who should find you just before dawn, a couple hours' time. Should he drink the waters and you staunch the bleeding, he should last the noct. I wish you luck, Killian."
She was gone before Killian could realize, though with a single goal in mind, he hardly paid any heed. To and fro from the water's edge he limped, and then crawled, bringing water to the dying man by the shellful. It wasn't until sometime in the earliest of morning that exhaustion finally took him.