Dead…I'm dead.
How many times had Leonidas thought this over his…unpleasant stay at this forest?
Stuck in the black ocean, falling from the sky, fighting Toothpick, then Root and Mantis. How many times had he come near to death...
Too many to count, he supposed. And yet here he was again, suspended in the air by the neck, legs dangling uselessly, the pilgrim wearing Willow's face staring up at him with eyes that had forgotten what it meant to be anything other than hungry.
He couldn't breathe.
That was the most immediate problem. The second most immediate problem was that his sword hand was empty, Blush having decided sometime in the last thirty seconds to be elsewhere, and his other arm was—as it had been for what felt like the majority of his time in the Labyrinth—not attached to him.
Absolutely amazing.
