I REMEMBER BLACK SKIES

There's the scent of leather and the weight of a trusty firearm in a strong hand as the Ether opens up and welcomes his presence, warm and powerful, a steady thrum of muscle and strength, no longer dimmed by pain or exhaustion. The halfbreed brings with him that same musk of gunpowder, and a laugh rolls along like a wave riding on amusement and a tangible wash of familiarity.

I knew you couldn't stay away, Everett. There's an impression of Jared's crooked smile, another thread of laughter, expert hands clicking a magazine into the butt of the gun. What took you so long?

It's sudden, too hot and almost clumsy where it should be strong and steady. It's like a rapid slideshow, a snarling wolf, a swinging blade, a dark alley with blood on the ground and a dark-haired female screaming like a banshee as she charges. In an unnaturally warm rush Jared's connection solidifies and he touches against Abigail, like a hand against her shoulder for balance. He's unfocused and confused by that, concerned.

I need you. There's a plea for help there, no shame in it; Jared's certainty in what he says next is bitter like overbrewed coffee. Something's wrong. The surroundings come rushing through, anything that he thinks Abigail might recognise in order to pinpoint his location, and then he goes dark and quiet.