[ The hand is red from the cold, but Robby isn't making a fuss about it right now, doesn't want to detract from what they're doing. He's telling Mob to focus on the beast, but Robby's got his concerns on the ice, hoping it'll hold. It's a thick block, more than Robby had intended - but then, he hadn't so much any intention beyond 'ice it' - but a magical monster is still a magical monster.

But the mix of blood magic and Mob's own fuelled into Robby seem to be sticking. Robby moves back an instinctive step when this new energy begins to form, flooding into the monster--the sight inspiring awe, but confusing too. It's a lot of power, and even Robby seems capable of registering that--or maybe for how much it is, there's so much more that can be used.

(So is it a lot, or not much at all? Maybe he's not ready to read power levels after all....)

Still, Robby hears the shifting vocals, and he feels himself becoming hopeful in a desperate way that it's working--just as that sharp horror jolts through him, though dulled. But horror is horror, it hits the body a certain way, and Robby recognises it. He also recognises it isn't his.

He reaches out and grips Mob's shoulder with his less reddened hand. ]

You can do this, Mob. There's someone there, we can't leave them like this--that's what we said. Nothing's worse than what they are now. We can't leave this job half-done.

[ He speaks loudly, to be heard over the energy and the anxiety in that horror. It pushes down on his own fear, where Robby doesn't even feel it except in the looseness of his limbs; replaced by a trust, a confidence.

He believes in Mob because he has no reason not to; when he's felt his strength himself, and because Mob deserves his trust. ]