"Safer down here, thanks," Jay mumbles, still splayed out and half-tangled in the brambles.
He hates that he says it. He hates how backwards it sounds. He hates how he's not sure he's got full control of his limbs, how something that should just work suddenly takes effort, how stumbling and hopping across the ground like a human is suddenly preferable to being up where things can't get at him. He shouldn't be getting vertigo. It shouldn't feel safer down here.
That whatever it was did something to his head. He felt it burrowing under his skull, under his skin, even if he couldn't see what it was doing. It must have done this on purpose.
God, he feels sick.
"Gimme a...gimme a second."
Gingerly, he pushes back with his wings against the ground, against the branches, and tries to pull himself upright. He braces himself for the agony to set in, but it doesn't hit. No indication that anything's broken. His whole body aches, though. He can feel bruises dotting up his side, across both wings. Even his bad leg twinges with the world's faintest case of pins and needles. His head throbs.
Fuck, how's the camera? He tilts his head down frantically, wincing as pain shoots down his neck. Red light's still on, lens looks...it's fine. There's a little dirt, maybe a chip in the corner, but it's still running. He blows on it, trying to clear the worst of it off. That's definitely a chip in the glass.
Still, all things considered, that wasn't as much of a disaster as it could have been.
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He hates that he says it. He hates how backwards it sounds. He hates how he's not sure he's got full control of his limbs, how something that should just work suddenly takes effort, how stumbling and hopping across the ground like a human is suddenly preferable to being up where things can't get at him. He shouldn't be getting vertigo. It shouldn't feel safer down here.
That whatever it was did something to his head. He felt it burrowing under his skull, under his skin, even if he couldn't see what it was doing. It must have done this on purpose.
God, he feels sick.
"Gimme a...gimme a second."
Gingerly, he pushes back with his wings against the ground, against the branches, and tries to pull himself upright. He braces himself for the agony to set in, but it doesn't hit. No indication that anything's broken. His whole body aches, though. He can feel bruises dotting up his side, across both wings. Even his bad leg twinges with the world's faintest case of pins and needles. His head throbs.
Fuck, how's the camera? He tilts his head down frantically, wincing as pain shoots down his neck. Red light's still on, lens looks...it's fine. There's a little dirt, maybe a chip in the corner, but it's still running. He blows on it, trying to clear the worst of it off. That's definitely a chip in the glass.
Still, all things considered, that wasn't as much of a disaster as it could have been.
Squinting, he pokes his head out of the leaves.
"That better be the trail."