Thalor buckled against Noah and Fenric's grip, his muscles corded and straining.
"Ngh, just how is the fish so strong?" Noah groaned.
"It's the struggle of life. Of course it's strong." Fenric responded, equally having a hard time.
"Hold him!" Damar hissed, his hands pressed on the cut to force the medicine deep into the merman's veins before they were expelled with Thalor's body rejection. "You'd better fight it, Fish! You wanted a place on the land—stay and claim it!"
The struggle felt like it lasted hours, though it was only minutes. Gradually, the violent tremors subsided.
The sickly grey tint of Thalor's skin began to recede, replaced by a faint, exhausted flush of life. His breathing, once a rattling struggle, slowed into a shallow but steady rhythm.
Damar sat back on his heels, his face pale and his silver hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He looked utterly drained.
