"Breathe," she says, cutting him off; the glow of her arm is brighter than ever, and there's a little bit more strain visible in her face. "We'll be fine. I promise, we'll be fine."

Well... she thinks so. And it's better to sound confident and not consider fear than the alternative, isn't it? She forces a lot of weight down on her own feelings, squashing them down into tar.

She follows her own advice, forcing level, steady breaths, in and out of her nose. The sphere is rank with the stench of blood, but there's really nothing to do about that now. The tendrils around the sphere and the jaw pushing down are a dozen lines of pressure, strong enough that she can feel the strain. Not on her body, like pressure against her head or a rope around her waist, but edging ever closer to her heart.

The sphere trembles, shrinking -- an inch, three inches shaved from the diameter, four. In, out. Focus. Focus... She pulls her arms in closer to her body, smearing the different bloods against her light clothing.

"Brace yourself."