[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/de966543-8dd7-40db-87a4-c04aba35b068.png[/img][/center][hr]No matter what happened, even as a cacophony of noise broke out behind him, Roan did not look back; shamefully, he didn’t even look back to make sure his rescuers made good on their escape. His sole focus was putting one foot in front of the other, sprinting (to the best of his ability) as far from that [i]place[/i] as his battered, emaciated legs could carry him. He didn’t even stop when the forest seemed to swallow him whole, as the world went black and ate all the light and sound around him. His heart shuddered, the fear gripping him that this must have been the edge of a cruel illusion and that soon he’d wake up to nothing but the fluorescent lights of his torture cell and the cruel faces of his tormentors - it wouldn’t be the first time - but not even that grim prospect stayed his feet. Instead, he laboured on with determination bordering on mindlessness, groping for the end to his nightmare. When the darkness was finally pulled away like a sheet and he [i]wasn’t[/i] still in prison, Roan almost fell to his knees. 

How he managed to stay upright was a mystery, really. He ambled inside with the rest of them, but as his new compatriots started winding down, Roan’s adrenaline still ran high; he was still ready to run at any moment, hesitant to believe that the idyllic cottage in the middle of a prairie he found himself in was real, expecting to wake up from this dream at any moment. 

The Commander’s orders seemed to snap him out of it, though - or, more specifically, his orders about Dylan. Roan was incensed before he even fully registered the command - just [i]drop[/i] him? Couldn’t he see what kind of condition he was in?! He was glad the purple-haired kid didn’t seem to listen and put Dylan gently on the ground, but a part of Roan almost wished he hadn’t. Something about seeing Dylan on the grass, his bruises and burns illuminated by moonlight and his hair singed and half-gone, finally hit home that this was [i]real[/i]. Roan really was rescued - but Dylan really was hurt. And Marie really was dead. 

Roan’s heart began to race anew, and his breathing quickened as he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Dylan’s disturbingly still form. Tears pressed at his eyes - or they would have, if he had the water for it - and he wanted to fall over his friend, start barking for the Life mage someone mentioned to come and attend to him, to tell him that he got the bastard who’d been plaguing them for so long - but nothing happened. 

After a long moment of stillness, Roan flinched violently at the touch of a hand on his shoulder, whipping around fearfully to face the source only to find Lyra offering words of encouragement. The vampire he’d helped with the Inquisitor also offered a nod, and Roan swallowed hard, suddenly very self conscious. His throat stung, scrubbed raw from dryness and screaming. 

Embarrassed, he offered no other input, willing himself not to look at Dylan again as he followed the Commander into the cottage. [hr][right][sub][@Hero] [@Bert Macklin] [@Achronum] [/sub][/right]