Despite Glacius' efforts, it seems Carlisle's mood has taken a downswing. He still feels incredible, and even leans into Glacius' hand as it graces his face; however, that just makes him think of how sad he'd be if he lost the alien. Tragic, tragic, tragic.

"Algidus burned once," he utters, the pictures in his mind so vivid, but twisted in ways that don't make sense. Carlisle can see the green being as clear as day, his form writhing from the deep burns along his underbody, pain flooding him to the point where even someone as proud as him would accept desperate measures. "I did what I could. Was- was it enough?"

His memories are so foggy; he can't recall where he was when that happened, or why it did in the first place. Was the tent on fire? Why was everything so red? Had he been bleeding? The floor was black, an abyss waiting to swallow him.

"It- it wasn't enough, was it?"

Carlisle looks down at his hands again -- they twitch, but he doesn't feel the sensation running down the rest of his arms. The heat of the enchanted tea burns in him, and with fire on the mind, he thinks for a fleeting moment that it might be all around them. His eyes dart left and right, paranoia kicking in as his thoughts turn faster and faster, as uncontrolled as the rest of him. Trouble is brewing somewhere -- he just doesn't see it yet, but it is out there, waiting for him to stop looking over his shoulder, hoping to catch him off-guard. He's cursed; it is his fate to bring misfortune to others.

"Was... ?"

But as he goes to put a hand to his head, his palm lands against Glacius' and where it rests against his face. The contact stops him again, seems to completely derail the downward spiral of his thoughts as his fingers curl, clasping the alien's hand with a feeble grip.

"I'm here," he says, clearer. "I'm here."