He accepted her assistance and got back to his feet unsteadily. The boy nodded and coughed again, if more weakly. "I got sick about a year ago," he explains. "I'm not sick anymore but it left me with...bad lungs or something. I don't know, no one really told me very much, but they said I'm probably never going to breathe very well again. But it's alright! At least I'm alive." He forced himself to smile so she wouldn't worry but the harsh reality is that he hardly saw his life as a silver lining. He wished he'd died in the snow all that time ago, after the sickness had taken his family. Even now he wasn't sure if he really wanted to survive but his instinct wouldn't let him give up completely, even if his heart already had.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
James spun around in confusion as he saw Boris running towards him, but for some reason, he couldn't understand Boris anymore. He frowned, with his brows drawn together in concern. He didn't know how to communicate with Boris if he couldn't speak his language. So instead he just said: "Boris!" then pointed at himself. "James." Then he pointed at his trail of marshmallows leading back to the camp.
Well, they couldn't see the camp anymore, but he hoped it was implied. He pulled out another marshmallow and placed it on the forest floor, and pointed back to indicate there was a trail, before looking up at Boris with a smile. "See?"
Oh. It was James. Good. James was sensible, if anyone could find Damascus, it'd be him. And yet he was trying to use those senses of his to lead them back to the camp, instead!
"Wir können-" Boris cried, before cutting himself short. He didn't want to look scared in front of James. He wiped his face on his sleeve, and started again.
"Wir können nicht ohne Damaskus zurückkehren." he said, with controlled concern.
How did you say that in English, again?
"Nein, Damascus we've have to. Find. Find?" he said, impatiently.
Bad souls have born better sons, better souls born worse ones -St Vincent
James nodded with understanding, smiling still. Oh, good! Boris knew some common! That was good!
“Yes!” he agreed. “Find Damascus. I want to, yes. This is for help after,” he said, gesturing to the path of food. He tried to keep himself from speaking too fast in case Boris wasn’t very familiar with common. He pointed out into the direction of the scream he heard before. “Is he that way? Did you find him?”
He sobbed even harder when he heard his own name being mentioned among the foreign words, and cowered from the hand that was extended to him by whatever was standing in front of him. And when its form began to change for just the briefest of seconds, Edward let out yet another loud sob in response.
But then the thing started crying, and it spoke a name that he recognized.
Tears still streaming down his face, he looked up at the person that he had thought was a monster. "Da-Damascus?" he asked. He didn't get why he suddenly couldn't understand him, but it made sense! Damascus was a demon. Didn't the person in front of him look demonic? And Damascus hadn't shown his true form like Schadel had.
xXx
She nodded. "Being alive is a good thing," she agreed, her form shifting from its true one to the one she had been using back at the campsite. She thought for a moment, then grinned at Engel. "But being dead is good, too! I haven't talked to many yet, but Blanx is always talking to ghosts. And I can kind of make myself like a ghost! When you're a ghost you can be all spooky and sneak into places and scare people. It sounds kind of fun!"
Damascus wiped his eyes as he heard his name repeated back to him, though it was accented. He nodded hurriedly and leaned down, speaking very slowly, as if it would help Edward unterstand him better.
"I got lost. Did you get lost too? And where is everyone else?" He looked around, just now realizing that the rest of the group had probably come to find him.
Edward shook his head, wiping away his tears with the sleeves of his pajamas.
"I can't understand you," he informed Damascus, only to realize that the words would mean nothing to his brother. He frowned and tried to think of some sort of solution, but nothing presented itself to him. All the while he was trying to ignore how terrifying Damascus looked - he liked him a lot better when he was a kid his age with red eyes instead.
Damascus sighed and slid to the floor across from Edward, pulling his knees up to his chest. He watched the other boy warily, wanting to hug him, but not wanting to disturb him any further.
"This must be like what happened with Engel." He murmered, though he knew that his words wouldn't be understood.
Carefully, he pointed to himself, and then to Edward, finally pointing toward the woods, hoping that it would be understood that he wanted to find the others.
It took a minute, but Edward finally understood the point that Damascus was trying to get across. He opened his mouth to say that he didn't know where any of them had gone, but then closed it the moment he remembered that Damascus wouldn't be able to understand what he was saying.
He settled with a shrug and the shake of his head instead. He thought for a moment, searched for a stick, and, upon finding one, started using it to draw in the sand. He drew two stick figures - one big, tall one with lines coming off of it to represent Schadel, and a smaller one with a stick figure bear to represent him. He made sure to put Schadel's makeshift torch in her hand.
In case Damascus didn't understand the meaning behind the picture, he pointed at each person. "Schadel," he said, pointing at the taller one. He pointed at the smaller one. "Edward."
Then he drew a line down between the two figures to show that they had gotten separated, and drew a stick figure version of Damascus - the stick figure's defining features being the pair of horns he drew on its head.
"Damascus," he explained, pointing at his brother's stick figure counterpart.
He looked back up at Damascus, hoping that he understood what he was trying to say.
Damascus stared at the stick figures in concentration. It helped that Edward only used the names he was referencing- he caught on quickly. His eyes widened slightly in horror.
"You all got separated... looking for me?" He brought his knees closer to his chest for a moment, shocked. After a few moments, he jumped to his feet and held out his hand for Edward's, gesturing pointedly toward the woods.
"We need to find them!" He insisted, stubbornly exclaiming in vain.
"Whoa, you can talk to dead people?" he asks, eyes wide as he gets back to his feet. Then he shakes his head, coughing again. "We need to find Edward."
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
He grabbed onto Damascus's extended hand, but had no trouble getting up on his own. Clutching William tightly in one hand, he peered off into the darkness. He tried to remember which way Schadel had been heading last - not realizing that Damascus had assumed that they all had gotten separated, rather than Schadel and Edward getting separated - and hesitantly started heading in the direction.
xXx
"Uh-huh!" she confirmed. She did hear his comment about finding Edward, but she just had to go off about grim reapers and ghosts before they could continue their search for their other new siblings. "Grim reapers have to keep an eye on ghosts, too. It's our job to make sure their souls get collected whenever they're ready to move on. Blanx says some reapers are really mean about it and just take those souls when they see them, but I don't want to be like that kind of reaper. I want to be like Blanx! Blanx always talks to them and figures out why they're still here, and then he helps them with their regrets. I wanna be like that, someday!"
She gave him a big grin, then turned her attention back to the woods. She held her hand up high, paused for a moment, and then looked back at him. "Could I carry you?" she asked. "I don't want to lose you like I lost Edward and maybe it could help you not cough as much!"
Damascus held Edward's hand tightly and let himself be led. He had an awful anticipatory feeling that was only heightened by walking silently in the dark, so he started humming softly- just to make things less scary. His humming somehow seemed to be garbled and out of tune, if such a thing was possible, and he ended up spooking himself more than he was before.
