She found herself in his arms, trembling, sick. Kain held her too tightly, and she felt, perhaps, she might break. Landing was barely softer; they skid to a stop, his knee awkward and his balanced skewed. He managed to arrange her on her feet, away from the gaping abyss and the sharp rocks, and supported her while she heaved breathless from the impact.

"You alright?" He didn’t seem to notice the way she stared. The moment she replied, the slightest nod, he leapt for his discarded spear and rejoined the battle.

Rydia frowned. She had wanted to ask why.

The camp was quiet when she dared. Finding her way to his side at last, she hesitated. It was strange to be so thick in the throat, and she shivered for embarrassment. She was not for rescuing, but she still felt the vertigo of being cast aside like a ragdoll and the uncertainty of having been caught.

Of having been rescued.

He didn’t notice her uneasiness, at least; solemnly watching the fire, he didn’t seem to notice much at all. She held her breath, waiting for him to notice her.

"Kain," she said at last. She wasn’t sure, how to ask, what to say, so she settled with, "Thank you."

He didn’t bother to move. His voice, though heavy with sleep, struck her clearly. "For what?"

It was too much – she retreated to her side of the campfire, past the line of light. He didn’t watch her leave, he didn’t react at all, and she felt foolish for thinking he would even notice her.

It was a split-second decision, and magic always took longer. The whip uncoiled from her hand, and she pulled back as it snapped about the beast’s neck. It was a pure, desperate distraction, and it worked. The monster lurched back, turning on her; she held the line tight between them, wrapping it about her hands and meaning to stand as bothersome weight if nothing more.

Out of danger, Kain rebounded off the rock wall. Coming down upon the twisted thing’s remaining head, he let go of the spear and hit the ground rolling. The beast slumped; one final shudder seized it, and the battle was over. Recovered, the dragoon kept his eyes on Rydia as he moved to recover his lance. She stared back, amused, for he may as well have never seen her before.

"Thanks," he breathed softly, brushing past her.

"What for?" she wondered aloud, earning a second, suspicious glance. And again, perhaps it was her imagination that he strayed close to her in battle thereafter.