[ He's watching as Gen rubs away the blood on his face, looking to see if there's anything else he needs to patch up. Amos hadn't thought much of it when he'd elected to learn how to heal people; it just seemed like the kind of thing that'd be useful. And now that he's using that skill to help Gen, who is only busted up like this because Set somehow got ahold of his gun and doesn't know how to use it properly—
There weren't any bullets. He'd seen that. And things would have turned out much worse if Set did know how to use it, but... still.
It's better to dwell on this, on his own simmering hatred of Set and concern for Gen's physical health than to pay close attention to the doubts whirling inside his companion's head. It's simple, and direct, and something he can actually do something about.
But it looks like he's taken care of all of Gen's outer wounds, no new blood flows springing up. So that's a relief—
He snaps to attention at the sound of his name. Feels Gen's weight against him again. And sighs, soft and sad, because this all just went... so wrong.
It's going to take more time yet to make it right, so he'll just focus on what he can do right now. ]
Yeah. Sure thing.
[ Since when has he needed a please? Amos shifts his arms so that his free one can scoop up Gen properly; leaves his other arm in place so Gen can use it as a pillow. He stabilizes his hold on him, resuming the princess carry he'd had before. (And maybe, over the course of the time that's passed, his arms have gotten that little bit fluffier? Maybe he's furrier than before in this moment.)
Amos looks skyward, debating if he should take off again; it'd get them back faster, but it also might rattle Gen's brains more, and... no. It's not worth it. If someone else attacks them he'll fly them away, but they don't have anything on them that's worth fighting for now.
With Gen nestled in his arms, he sets off on a slow, steady gait back towards Zenith's camp. ]
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There weren't any bullets. He'd seen that. And things would have turned out much worse if Set did know how to use it, but... still.
It's better to dwell on this, on his own simmering hatred of Set and concern for Gen's physical health than to pay close attention to the doubts whirling inside his companion's head. It's simple, and direct, and something he can actually do something about.
But it looks like he's taken care of all of Gen's outer wounds, no new blood flows springing up. So that's a relief—
He snaps to attention at the sound of his name. Feels Gen's weight against him again. And sighs, soft and sad, because this all just went... so wrong.
It's going to take more time yet to make it right, so he'll just focus on what he can do right now. ]
Yeah. Sure thing.
[ Since when has he needed a please? Amos shifts his arms so that his free one can scoop up Gen properly; leaves his other arm in place so Gen can use it as a pillow. He stabilizes his hold on him, resuming the princess carry he'd had before. (And maybe, over the course of the time that's passed, his arms have gotten that little bit fluffier? Maybe he's furrier than before in this moment.)
Amos looks skyward, debating if he should take off again; it'd get them back faster, but it also might rattle Gen's brains more, and... no. It's not worth it. If someone else attacks them he'll fly them away, but they don't have anything on them that's worth fighting for now.
With Gen nestled in his arms, he sets off on a slow, steady gait back towards Zenith's camp. ]