[It hadn't occurred to Paul the boy would react like this, too focused on the steps he needed to take next for those thirty meters. He stares at him, shocked, as the boy flings himself at him in concern. And the look in his eye when he does makes Paul's stomach drop and twist fiercely, a fear that has nothing to do with his own safety welling up.
He reaches for the boy's shoulders with both hands, to prove he's all right, gently presses his thumbs underneath the boy's collarbones. It's something his father used to do to steady him; Paul doesn't realize that until he's already done it.]
Not yet.
[To thank you, it's no response, except that his voice is determined, intended to calm. Not yet, because there's going to be a later, because he's all right and they'll be all right.
It may not be clear what cues Paul to move when he does, what combination of sounds and impacts fall into the arrangement he's been waiting for. He wouldn't be able to precisely describe it, in so many words. It's just - time. He pulls the boy into his arms (and makes sure his arms are secure around his neck) and darts towards the trench in an explosive burst.
He doesn't think, the entire stretch. He doesn't see the bodies he weaves past. He doesn't hear the firing of guns. He keeps his head down and his mind in battle-clarity, a state of pure action and reaction, and he runs.
When they finally, miraculously slide into the muddy trench, Paul thinks he's never run so long in his life. He collapses against the wall, his body shaking, arms surely painfully tight around the boy, his shoulder a cold fire, and tries very hard to remember how to breathe.]
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He reaches for the boy's shoulders with both hands, to prove he's all right, gently presses his thumbs underneath the boy's collarbones. It's something his father used to do to steady him; Paul doesn't realize that until he's already done it.]
Not yet.
[To thank you, it's no response, except that his voice is determined, intended to calm. Not yet, because there's going to be a later, because he's all right and they'll be all right.
It may not be clear what cues Paul to move when he does, what combination of sounds and impacts fall into the arrangement he's been waiting for. He wouldn't be able to precisely describe it, in so many words. It's just - time. He pulls the boy into his arms (and makes sure his arms are secure around his neck) and darts towards the trench in an explosive burst.
He doesn't think, the entire stretch. He doesn't see the bodies he weaves past. He doesn't hear the firing of guns. He keeps his head down and his mind in battle-clarity, a state of pure action and reaction, and he runs.
When they finally, miraculously slide into the muddy trench, Paul thinks he's never run so long in his life. He collapses against the wall, his body shaking, arms surely painfully tight around the boy, his shoulder a cold fire, and tries very hard to remember how to breathe.]