Feeling Glacius' head press against his hand, Carlisle nods and draws it back, rubbing at his eyes as he falls silent, his heart heavy. Just what had the creature posing as him done? And more importantly, could it be fixed?

It's in that moment that he thinks of Algidus, of the injury in the green alien's voice when he believed Carlisle had turned against him, of the outright agony that overtook him, crippling even the strongest of warriors. To imagine Glacius being put through that wounds him even now, even worse than the shears in his back.

And so Carlisle is quiet the rest of the way to the Spire, resting once more against his alien friend as he tries to focus on something else -- anything else. What finally holds his attention is the sharp pounding behind his eyes and the roughness of his throat as he breathes; both are preferable to where his mind would go if given the chance.