Carlisle hardly reacts as Glacius calls to him, though not for not trying; his limbs feel heavy, numbed from exhaustion, and fail to react. The pool of ink beneath him -- some of it dried, some fresh -- says he's been there a while. It clings to him all over -- beneath his fingernails, in the creases of his face, trailing down his jaw, all across his tabard and darkest at the middle.

"Ah. There you are." His voice is raspy, barely a whisper, yet the corner of his mouth twitches as he leans against Glacius' chest, the barest hint of a smile crossing him as he finally feels safe enough to close his eyes. "I feel... better already."