[That is vague information, Sylvain—but as Felix watches the last of the Spartae disappear from his field of view, he slowly, finally, lowers his blade. For all the sharp-tongued criticism he lobs his old friend's way, he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sylvain is someone he can count on; he trusts that Sylvain says as little as he does because there's nothing truly important to add. They've made it? They've made it...
...And while that realization is a welcome one, it's followed by a wave of exhaustion so strong that he almost—almost!—sways in place. It's sheer stubbornness that keeps him upright, but as he takes in a deep breath, testing his (bruised) ribs, the sound of something heavily hitting the earth behind him sends him hurriedly twisting around. But it's just... Sylvain, of course. Stupid, stupid Sylvain, choosing to sit the fuck down instead of, you know, finding their horses and putting as much distance between themselves and this spot as possible. Ill-advised!
But understandable, Felix supposes, even if he is scowling as he sheathes his sword and heads Sylvain's way. He should be furious that Sylvain took such a ridiculous, unnecessary risk. He is furious—and yet, once he's actually standing beside him? Once he gives him a quick once-over and sees no grievous injuries? That fury is tempered, somewhat, by the relief he feels.
Again: somewhat. It's certainly not enough stop him from bracing one (1) disgusting, mud-covered boot against Sylvain's shoulder as he considers how close a call this truly was. Yes, they held their own. Yes, he also thought the enemies would never, ever stop. Yes, he is also grateful to be ALIVE, but hey? Hey. Hey.]
You idiot, [he snaps,making sure to put some heat in those words—and also pointedly ignoring everything Sylvain said. Suffer.] I should run you through myself.
[Glad you're alive, best buddy. Honestly. Please appreciate Felix using the last of his strength to... attempt to push you over.]
sylvain, the point of the promise... is to live, NOT send felix to an early grave
...And while that realization is a welcome one, it's followed by a wave of exhaustion so strong that he almost—almost!—sways in place. It's sheer stubbornness that keeps him upright, but as he takes in a deep breath, testing his (bruised) ribs, the sound of something heavily hitting the earth behind him sends him hurriedly twisting around. But it's just... Sylvain, of course. Stupid, stupid Sylvain, choosing to sit the fuck down instead of, you know, finding their horses and putting as much distance between themselves and this spot as possible. Ill-advised!
But understandable, Felix supposes, even if he is scowling as he sheathes his sword and heads Sylvain's way. He should be furious that Sylvain took such a ridiculous, unnecessary risk. He is furious—and yet, once he's actually standing beside him? Once he gives him a quick once-over and sees no grievous injuries? That fury is tempered, somewhat, by the relief he feels.
Again: somewhat. It's certainly not enough stop him from bracing one (1) disgusting, mud-covered boot against Sylvain's shoulder as he considers how close a call this truly was. Yes, they held their own. Yes, he also thought the enemies would never, ever stop. Yes, he is also grateful to be ALIVE, but hey? Hey. Hey.]
You idiot, [he snaps,making sure to put some heat in those words—and also pointedly ignoring everything Sylvain said. Suffer.] I should run you through myself.
[Glad you're alive, best buddy. Honestly. Please appreciate Felix using the last of his strength to... attempt to push you over.]