no subject

[ It's a struggle not to struggle. The burst of relief when hands touch his skin is nearly too much to bear; Flynn lets out a little breath and then curses himself for it when sand pours into his nose in its wake. He squeezes his eyes shut, afraid of the darkness and more afraid still of eyes full of sand. He thinks about what it means to be a knight for all of three seconds before fear dashes any hope of rational thought to pieces. Instead, maybe he prays, to his very competent partner and to a goddess who probably can't hear him.

He also shoves a knee up as best he can to pull the bond holding his leg down taut.

It isn't easy work. The sand is coming thick and fast to fill any gaps they leave behind. ]