"It is by the primary force that shaped you." Still no attempt to get himself up from the dirt. He was not just exhausted, he was spent. Any movement was one too many, save for breathing. Maybe a bit of talking.
He didn't want to focus on the surroundings, nothing good was happening anyway - but in this moment?

In this moment, there were stars beyond the smoke. An aquamarine tint to the sky in a promise of dawn. Some remnants of the petrichor still lingering. And he was alive, alive and with the Harvest sifting through him, the blanket of the Shroud that engulfed most of Aragor ever, ever so slowly passing into his core and dispersing among the faceless things. Back into the retreating night.

His battle was done. Surely, he could afford just a moment of peace.

"You can call me Brother Briar, if you want to call me something," the wraith offered. His voice was steady, less a hollow husk, and even a hint of a decent cadence. He probably sounded rather nice when healthy and appropriately watered. "We seem to stem from the same root, in a way. You seem to move aspects in... some way that balances the whole. And you seem to know things, like your way in the dark. I am similar, but not quite. I find the imbalance in broad strokes. Like what you did when you moved a calamity from the... obscure, the First Dark, into hatching. And then I exclude chance, and put in effort to overcome what malice it might bring. For peace, at least, in part. Doesn't solve all problems in one fell weaving swoop, as you might reckon."

Smoke brought about by wind crept into his lungs, and Briar coughed. His pale left hand rose to his mouth. The right, withered, scarred, rested along his torso, as if to subtly keep it out of view. His own included.
"Would you sit down, let me take a proper look at you? Unless you're in a hurry to get away from the edge." An askance look back over, into the pit. What a strange view.
 
Briar, huh? Fitting – one prickly guy. Or maybe Trevor had been the abrasive one. Hard to tell with the fatigue stacking like fortune he owed. At least some of them got to take a nap – by stone or otherwise. He'd have taken a concussion over staying awake to witness all that had unfolded. All that was about to. The sight had never felt this useless. Knowing just enough to worry, but never far enough ahead to change a damn thing. What use was knowing a wound was coming when you didn't get to avoid it? You could only ever stitch it. And his hands were so tired of that.

There were far too many words coming out of Briar's mouth. Spoke like one of those learned folk you'd get paid a lot to kill. Made sense. Probably why he was so bad at talking like a person. By blood or ink – they were strange fuckers, to a man.

Sunk back down. Couldn't rightly claim to be sitting – no more than carrots sat in the ground.

„We're not brothers, Briar.“ And probably for the best. But he didn't want to fight – not really.

„Ever thought of ending it? Ridding the world of your curse?“
 
"No, we aren't," he echoed easily, seeming to have taken no offense at the tone. At least the stranger sat. And treated him to some more self-defeating drivel as he did so.

"It could be a curse, suppose so, if you let it run on you rampant, keep doing what you want and run from everything that results. I just learned to use mine. Now I can be in places where people need help the most, sometimes of time. Less death. Less suffering. Less sacrifice needed from them to overcome."

Strange eyes like windows to the stars studied as he spoke. "I take the risk on myself, and the effort, and the required knowledge. It's the responsibility that I'm tired of carrying - not some notion that my existence would have any bearing on the universal balance itself. Bad things happen. Sometimes, to good people. If I'm here, I can do something about it, at least. You?"
 
Blinked once, twice. So that's what it was. Briar believed himself to be an agent of order. Maybe that was true. Seemed unlikely. There weren't many like Trevor – well, there weren't any exactly like him – but he'd seen this face before. Pretending to be the scales to make your influence justified. They weren't the scale, they were the thumb fucking with it. And what was good for the thumb, may not have been good for the scales – even less so for the sucker buying the goods.

If he wanted to be evercertain, let him. Must be nice. It just meant they had less in common than Trevor thought. That made him smile a bit – being wrong about things was always reassuring. Like somehow destined things could still be avoided. And maybe they could – it was just him that was bad at sidestepping them.

„Glad you got it figured out.“ Sniffed the smoke. It hadn't gotten better. No screams yet – that was either encouraging or damning. Maybe he should take a page out of Briar's book and simply assume the best.

Hah, as if!

„You good to walk, Briar?“ They had yet to truly earn their rest. Always another thing waiting. Another thread to pull. Question leading to more questions. Shit neverending.

His eyes had mostly settled. Looked at the midwife – no longer a shape of light – and thanked the gods he couldn't recognize the face.
 
"I'm still figuring it out," came the response to the jab. For how tense he was, before, mid-Hunt, even when seemingly trying to sleep and rest - Briar seemed at peace, now. The chaos didn't cease, it wasn't going to, issues layering one on top the other, but he'd done what he could, and unless he decided to take on more, his conscience was clear.

Good to walk? Well, that depended on what 'good' meant. Was he wanting to walk? No. Could he, ostensibly, move his legs to some far goal? Yes.

"Do we have somewhere to go?" He asked, peacefully, eyes still on the wimpy mover. "I would suggest as far away from here as we can make it, lest you intend to help these people. I've killed the thing that would have woven the Shroud, but the Shroud is still here. Along with the chaos people have themselves created in response to their misfortune."

Sat, slowly, with a grunt of effort, leaned forward, elbows onto the knees. Felt for the cord and the talisman that wasn't there. Seemed to mouth a curse under his breath, eyes shifting off the other obscurata and to the middle of the pit. Seemed to be enough for his thoughts to drift to whatever was lost, a small thing by the looks of it, despite much bigger problems all around.
 
„As far as we can, then.“ Wasn't sure what Briar's deal was. But he had to go. Lingering would only bring more trouble. When the bucket broke, every drop just found your boots.

„Get up, Briar.“ Stood and offered a hand. Didn't wait long.

Sooner they left all of this behind, the better.

Staying longer would only salt the wound.
 
The skeletal, withered hand closed around the offered one. A heavy lurch, a grimace, clearly pained but struggling to his feet to do just that.
Walk.
"Done. Let us. And... hey, if you are ever in Bremen, Altalusia, ask after the baron. The family deals with curses, studies them. If you want rid of it, wouldn't hurt to try. You might not be a good person," because gods know some people hated to be called good, "but you're trying tp get by best you can, no? Some things don't have to rely on chance."

He wouldn't speak much, after. Kept walking, idly, until the ways parted. Would have kept the fire through the night but disappeared before dawn, if they camped. Didn't show much pain, or anything. Kept touching to the empty spot on the chest, until he stopped - acceptance came.
 
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