Francis’ arms are tight and secure around him. He thinks, When it comes, I can fight it and the thought is washed away. He tries again, imagining it coming, and the thought is gone before he finishes it carried in a tide of fear. His arms are around Francis now. His legs aren’t his own, they belong to the feeling that’s stealing everything else, wouldn’t support him for a second even if he tried to make them stand. But he can turn in his friend’s grip and shift his own until he’s facing the door, arms behind his back looking for whatever kind of grip on Francis they can reach.

His bow is too far away from him. The arrows are, too. The bodies it’s already killed hadn’t been fighting back at all. He can feel his body trembling with every gasping breath in and every breath he pushes out. It doesn’t last long, does it? Once it comes, it shows itself right away? Raju can’t remember. It feels like it’s been years already. Francis is behind him. He’ll be ready when it comes. He has to be.