The fact was that Ishiah had never really shed a single tear in his life. Not in the way that humans did, anyhow— his eyes had grown wet before to fend off dry, arid air, a practical response to the whims of the weather, but crying as a source of comfort, or to work past stressors, was something that he had never experienced. Watching Lucy, however, with tears pooling in her eyes and a red flush rising to her cheeks, was painful, and Ishiah was not sure at all what to do with that pain. Most of those in his life would have done well with a spar to keep them distracted, but Ishiah knew full well that Lucy was not that type— nor did he, honestly, want her to be. Even if she'd been able to pull the trigger on other people in this dream, he doubted that the satisfaction that came from the kick back of a gun would last any longer than the moment it tore against one's muscles.

He did know, however, that he wasn't going to leave her. Even if she wasn't crying, even if she had chosen to stay there by sheer stubbornness, he wouldn't have left her there. He knew that being alone was one of her great fears, and a part of Ishiah knew that it was his own as well.

From a distance he watched, noticing how much smaller Lucy looked right then, just a small being of color standing on a desert of white and green. So small that surely, she needed someone else there to give her more weight. And so Ishiah approached her from behind and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, one wing raised to block the sunlight from hitting her face too hard.

"Take your time," he told her quietly. All else considered, she was still his top priority.