It's been a long couple of days for Glacius, separated from and worried for his partner while trapped on a boat mostly full of people he doesn't much care for, but not nearly as hard as things have been for Carlisle. Unfortunately, it takes the alien some time to become aware of this; whatever trickery the gods pulled to separate those back on the mainland also interfered with the metaphysical connection he'd been relying on to let him know if something was amiss with his partner.

He should have been aware of the terrible, soul-rending injuries the moment they occurred; he should have similarly been able to detect the unsanctioned tampering with those wounds when it was performed. Instead, he only felt the aftermath when things reverted to normal... but the fright, disorientation, and utter fragility he felt from the link was more than enough to galvanize Glacius. He gave the few people on the voyage that he trusted a quick alert that he would be departing, but then he fielded no questions; he simply plunged into the sea and swam back towards the mainland as quickly as he could.

It was as the western island was finally looming large on the horizon that he felt the ping. The ice alien didn't break stride, but rather kept pushing himself as hard as he could to get back quickly, dammit—some of that desperate concern likely bled across the Mote as he responded to his partner.

Carlisle... where are you? The cleric's life force... it feels... wrong, weak! What has happened?!