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Everything hurt. It hurt, and he couldn't completely understand why. And all Fang wanted was for it to stop so he could sink to the ground and curl up in a ball. But he couldn't. Not here. He atleast knew that much. He had to... atleast make it back to that camp. Wherever it was.

So instead he staggered through the woods. He stopped, more like swayed, when he vaguely registered the other aura on his senses. The purple haired man kind of just cocked his head to the side as he blinked tiredly at the other man. Fang's hold tightened on his arm as he swayed. It hurt bad. He had noted that he couldn't move the fingers when he tried earlier. So all assumptions led to either it being dislocated or broken.

Tired teal eyes traveled from the sloppy, already reddening bandage around the man's waist slowly up to his face. And again Fang blinked a few times, his eyes narrowing the slightest bit as his position shifted while swayed again. Fang lurched a few times, when he tipped just the slightest bit too far in one direction.

Don't stop.. K.. Keep moving. He mentally chided.

Too bad for Fang, that when he took that first step again. He collapsed.

He hadn't hit the ground. Fangite knew that much. And despite that the world was still spinning, Fang knew that it shouldn't be upside down. Fangite whined, only for it to turn into a full on yelp when his bad arm got jostled wrong. After that the purple haired knight began furiously digging his heel into the other mans lower back in a last ditch effort to right himself.

Put me down, put me down!

With all this twisting and turning, pushing and in some cases pulling, Fangite managed to roll himself off the other man's shoulder. That however, meant a rather far drop to the ground. Fangite cried out again once he struck dirt, curling into a ball and squeezing his eyes shut. He could have sworn he felt a few tears creep past the corners of his eyes as he grit his teeth. He was so tired of everything hurting. Why couldn't it all have just stopped. Why couldn't it have taken everything from him instead of leaving him with fuzzy memories of people he was sure he didn't want to remember.

"How.." His voice cracked, and he wondered just when the last time he actually spoke was. "How do you know my name..."

How could this man know who he was. He didn't even know who he was. The knights stomach flipped at the sound of his own name. How he hated it. He knew it didn't belong in this side of the fight. It still made him feel like he was one of them. That shouldn't be his name now. He knew that. Other's knew that, yet no one could provide him with some clue to what his new name actually was. So instead they continued to call him by his former name. And it acted as a reminder to all he had done, all he had been a part of.

And it too, hurt.

Fangite just laid there as he glanced up at the man. This knight sounded like Natron, but that was not his uniform. "You're not Natron." Fangite murmured. "That's not Natron's uniform." Fangite shook his head. "Not Natron." And if he was, he wasn't anymore.

The knight tried to push himself up, but his arm buckled and he was sent crashing back into the dirt with a low whine. Maybe he'd just lay there and sleep. It was probably a bad idea. He'd most likely die out here, but Fang found that strangely, he didn't much care. He was cold and tired, where he'd die wouldn't matter.

"You can't know me... I don't know me." His throat hurt. It stung with every syllable he spoke. And again, Fangite couldn't remember why. "I want to go back." He whined.

Fangite wanted to flinch away, to smack the hand off his face. But instead he just let it happen. He closed his eyes again and released a long, slow breathe. "The green looks weird..." The knight croaked. Fang shifted again, opening his eyes to glance at his uniform. "...Mine too."

"...Just the one.." He murmured, cradling his bad arm against his chest as he debated whether he wanted to wrap his good arm around this man's shoulders or not. "...Ida?" Fang mulled over what he remembered, trying to search for the name. But at the moment, all it was causing was a giant headache. The purple haired man groaned, eventually sliding his good arm around Lyonesse's neck as he buried his face into fabric. "It hurts.. It all hurts.."

"Oh..." Was all he said, before he inevitably fell asleep.

When Fangite eventually came too, he blinked slowly. A moment of confusion over took him before he began to slowly remember the proceedings that had happened earlier. The purple haired man sat up slowly, a small hiss escaping him as his arm throbbed. Someone had come in and splinted it as best they could it seemed. Teal eyes glanced around the room before it settled on the sleeping form beside his bed.

It was the man from earlier, Fangite realized. The one who had said he was Natron. Not Natron had taken a hold of his hand, and currently had a good grip on it. Fangite decided it wasn't worth it to try and fight the sleeping man's grip so he carefully sank back down into the bed with a sigh.

"No." Fangite mumbled, raising his hand and pressing it to his head when Lyonesse let go. "I can't remember the last time I felt 'better'." He sighed and closed his eyes again. It was only when he opened his eyes again and pulled his hand away did he notice the slight shaking that tore through his body. That didn't make sense.. Why was he shaking... Was he cold? Now that he thought about it he wasn't sure. For a moment he was, and then later he felt unbearably warm.

"...Am I sick?" He asked, finally glancing back over to Lyonesse. "...I want my cat."

"I don't remember their name.. But she's ashen in color with long fur. They told me I brought her with me when I came to purify... For whatever reason." Fangite shrugged. That reason didn't matter much. At least he had something. "I handed her off earlier, I don't know where they've taken her." Maybe he had lost her already.

"That... explain's a lot then.." Fang sighed. "I think I was sick before I came over here. I remember the other's making comments of 'having made him worse'." The knight sighed and shimmied further under the blankets with a small shake of the head. "No. No one's bothered to give me one or give me some clue as to what it could be. Instead they continue to call me Fangite..." The purple haired man gave an involuntary shudder. "I know it's not right... so I try to tell them to just call me Fang... but they don't listen to me." Fang snorted, frowning slightly as he muttered 'Not Natron' under his breathe.

He eyed the other suspiciously. He had kept saying he was Natron, but Natron wouldn't have run off here would he? "....Where was the first place I was trained. And what was my weapon at the time."