[The boy doesn't even protest, even if the sudden embrace comes as a surprise. He presses his face against her like a child would, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears.

Lightning's broken words don't make any sense, but they sound far away anyhow. Like there's a fog between them. Hope brings a hand up to clutch at her forearm.]

...you don't... it's already over, Lightning. The draft's over.

[He's acutely aware of the ground beneath them now, cold and wet and barren—or at least, the latter is how it feels. Hope absently wraps an arm around his torso, shivering minutely from the chill in the air.]

W-we should... we should go... it's cold. We'll take care of you, okay?