Abras: did not take that into account when bracing himself. He makes a sad little involuntary noise.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, nearly done, just hang on a second..." And then the gentle yet agonizing touches stop. "Damn," Savil says softly, more to herself than him. "That's a problem." 

Oh no what now. "W-what?" His mind immediately tries to jump to horrifying worst-case scenarios--his magic came in wrong and he'll never be able to control it, or never be able to use it without it hurting, or he screwed up even worse with the drugs than he thought and gave himself permanent brain damage.

"Hey, don't panic on me." She reaches to grip his hand. "Nothing's worse. The problem is that it's not any better either – and it's not that it healed some and then was damaged when you did accidental magic, then it'd be different, and it's not, really."

Heavy sigh. "They might eventually heal on their own. But we don't know that for sure, because this hasn't happened to anyone before; it's not ordinary backlash, that part is resolving just fine. And if we're not seeing any improvement in a week of rest, then, gods, it could take years. Which isn't acceptable. So I need to think of how we can help it along. The issue is, the Healers can treat your body, but they can't even see Gift-channels. I can, but I can't Heal..." 

Abras tries to remember any of what he's read about the interactions between different Gifts. "If there was a Healer with Thoughtsensing could you sort of, show them where to aim? I guess if that would work you would have thought of it."

"No, I don't think that would work, they aren't trained like the – oh!" Sudden light in her voice. "Abras, you might've just given me an idea. I think I do know a person who could help you."

Then the light dims. "...It's not the greatest of plans for other reasons, though. He lives in the Pelagirs, and you're in no shape to travel overland. I'd have to Gate. Lancir thinks that Gate-energy in particular is going to hurt a lot for you right now, given the, er, cause of your Gifts awakening. But it could be doable." 

Abras sits there in silence for a minute.

"I think, if it will help, and if it will stop hurting eventually, even a lot of pain for a while is better than, than being drugged until I'm not really a person anymore." (It was like being dead, almost, except he got to come back, and 'Lendel is ACTUALLY DEAD and will never get to come back ever again.)

"We may have to drug you for the Gate itself," Savil says. "Because I don't want to torture you, and I especially don't want a repeat of that nightmare you had, where you panicked and couldn't stop doing magic even though that was making everything worse. But it'd be just one time, and then, if I'm right, Moondance can heal your channels in a few days and–" her voice cracks a bit, as she reaches and squeezes his hand before, "–and we can put the worst part behind us, and move forward. Abras, I hate seeing you hurting like this." 

He stops himself from nodding again. "Drugs for the Gate makes sense. But I might just be saying that because I want drugs. I want . . ." To be a functional human being again, to not be in pain, to wake up in Tylendel's arms and hear that the last week was all a dream. "I want something other than this."

"So do I, kechara. Gods, so do I." She shuffles closer on the bed, and puts her arm around his shoulders for a moment – then seems to become uncomfortable, and backs off. "Why don't you try to get some more rest? I need to discuss this plan with the others." 

He's not sure why she got uncomfortable and pulled away but it's clearly something he should be nonspecifically embarrassed about. "Okay. I'll try not to do any magic in my sleep." He slowly transitions back to lying flat.

The next while passes in a fractured blur. It seems like the phase that involves consulting Abras is over, and what's left is some out-of-context discussions that happen to take place near enough to his bed, during moments of consciousness, that he can half overhear. 

The older Healer isn't at all happy about the plan – because of the Gate, and because it involves arriving in the dangerous Pelagirs wilderness in winter. Adequate warm clothing is discussed. Abras needs to be strong enough to ride – no, nevermind, he'll be drugged, they can strap him to Yfandes just in case Savil's Gate lands them in a place that they instantly need to escape from. Abras needs to be physically healthy enough that his body can handle a chase while drugged insensible and strapped to a saddle. He isn't strong enough right now, because he hasn't been eating. That indicates waiting a couple of days during which Lissa and others will coax (force) Abras to eat regular, nourishing meals. Gemma doesn't want to give him any argonel before departure – Gemma slightly relents on this, he can have half-doses at carefully spaced intervals. And food. Food isn't optional. Sleep is good though, they let him, encourage him even, to sleep all the time that he isn't taking care of other bodily necessities. 

Probably some days go by or something but it's hard to tell. 

...And then someone is gently patting his arm. "Abras? It's time for you to go soon, I just - wanted..." Lissa's voice breaks. "I'm going to miss you so much. Be safe, come back well..." She trails off, swallows. "I'll help you get dressed." 

Abras accepts that his "not eating" plan has not stood up in practice, and gamely cooperates with getting food into himself. His ability to tell whether he's hungry got lost somewhere between the pain and the not knowing whether it's day or night, but he can wait for food to appear and then swallow it without checking what it is and then sleep again. He dreams of Tylendel a lot, and Lissa and Gemma and Savil and Yfandes sometimes, and if any of the dreams are real things happening around him he can't reliably tell which ones. (None of the ones with Tylendel, though, that's impossible to forget.)

When Lissa says goodbye, that's clearly real, and he puts his hand on hers. "I'll miss you too. Thank you for everything." He gets dressed, and waits to find out what happens next.

Savil comes to collect him. "All right, kechara. Plan is to give you the dose now, and then get you up on Yfandes before it kicks in all the way, so you can still help us a bit. Shavri?" 

The Healing-trainee steps forward. "Here." The cup she lifts to his lips has a considerably larger quantity of the fiery-tasting argonel than his previous doses. "You're probably not going to remember much after this point," she warns him. "I'll–" hesitation, "...good luck, all right?" 

"Thanks. I'll--I'll try to come back stronger." He downs the drink and sets himself to getting atop Yfandes, realizing partway through that he's not going to remember his first time riding his Companion. It's a ridiculous thing to feel sad about, really, isn't he sad about enough things already, but there it is.

:I don't think it's ridiculous: Yfandes reassures him. :I love you, Chosen. I'll be right here the whole time: 

...Her mindvoice is already starting to get hazy, even as Abras is distantly aware of Savil and Shavri and Lissa helping strap his increasingly limp body into place, belting him twice to the saddle and wrapping the stirrup leathers tightly around his calves. He is definitely not going to be falling off. 

"Abras?" It's Mardic, probably. Donni might be there too. "Goodbye. I'm– I'm really going to miss you. Get well." 

"Love you too, 'fandes. . . . Good . . . bye . . ." he lets himself tip forward onto Yfandes' neck.

And then, for a while, there's nothing at all. 

- pain - 

It's distant at first, encroaching on his drugged stupor like an ember coming closer to already-burned skin, and then it fills everything, molten agony, fire, lava–

- fear - cold - 

The pain subsides, a little, but it's so cold. 

"Shh, ke'chara, it's all right. Everything's all right. We're just...going to wait here..." The flat, exhausted voice drifts in from a faraway dream. Something is warm, not warm enough to quite stop the shivering but better than nothing. "Just rest. I'm not going anywhere."  

Abras tries to lie still and rest, except for how every muscle in his body is shivering and half are twitching with the aftershocks of agony. If he can think at all, he uses it to keep track of Savil and Yfandes, making sure they're still there and that he hasn't gotten lost in either the real wilderness or the one made of his senses.

An unmeasurable interval of time passes. The aftershocks of pain subside but the cold doesn't. Maybe the entire world is freezing over. 

... 

Savil twitches awake, chin jerking up from her chest, and throws another stick from the pile beside her onto the embers of her tiny fire. It's not even keeping the cave above freezing, but the temperature outside is a lot colder than that. There aren't many sticks left. Kellan has been finding them in the woods and carrying them to her in his mouth (Yfandes refuses to be more than three yards away from her Chosen), but right now her Companion's body is half of their windblock and if he moves them a gust is likely to put the fire out. She doesn't have enough in her reserves for a shield, much less a heat-spell or weather-barrier.

It's getting dark. Temperature's dropping. Even wrapped under her cloak, Abras is shivering uncontrollably. She activated the talisman to call out to her friends, it must be six candlemarks ago; nightfall comes early here, this late into the year and far north. Please, please come. 

–A stick cracks. 

Savil doesn't scramble to her feet; she's too tired for that. Too tired even to reach out with her Othersenses. "Who's there?" she says wearily.

Kellan steps aside, but the wind doesn't come in; instead, a tall, slender robed figure swims into view, long white hair falling to his waist, one hand raised and holding the invisible barrier that keeps the storm at bay.

"Wingsister," he says to her in Tayledras. (To Abras, it sounds like elegant and beautiful gibberish.) "It has been a long time. What brings you here?"