[ He's compact where she's spread out; opaque where translucence begins to touch her, bark slowly starting to grow out of, atop his skin. A shield. Something to keep everything inside, even though everything that's inside him now is stuff he explicitly does not want. Stuff that is scrambling his brain, his sense of time, his perception of self.

It's hell, and it's all he can do to focus on Caren. Use her as a grounding point, as impossible at that seems right now, his consciousness wavering between his original world and this one. ]

Yeah. It... I needed them to keep me on the right track. My friend and I had just killed a guy. Shit was dire, and we needed supplies, and he was some asshole who had them... [ Amos' voice trails off. For a moment, he sees past Caren, out at nothing. A dark cabin lit only by firelight. His hand tenses in hers. ] I figured, didn't really matter if he died. Friend pointed out it was fucked up that I thought that way. She was right. So if I could just get back to my ship... to my people...

[ He pauses, taking a long, deep breath. As though that'll do anything. ]

Then everything would've been okay. [ A shaky exhale before he looks back at her. ] But I didn't. The world ended. And I'm here now, and I thought everything was okay, but it's not, is it?

[ It doesn't make any sense to him, instincts and foreign emotions at war — and on top of the futile longing for his people (is it futile?), the confusion and desperation of it all makes it feel like his insides are being squeezed, wrung out until there's nothing left.

Except that'd be a blessing, if there was nothing left, and that isn't the case for him at all in the here and now. ]