As calm as he should have been frantic, the Sentinel of the City crossed the room and stopped at the edge of the dismal bed. Looking down at his friend, his eyes held more pity than anything else.

Careful not to jostle, the Sentinel bent down and ran a hand over the brittle man's forehead. Laying his other over his Guide's chest he frowned as he heard the rhythm in the smaller chest start to falter and stall.

He had to hurry.

Not sure how he knew, he picked his Guide up, sad as he easily hefted a man whose weight should of at least made him bend at the knees. Holding the limp man close to his chest, he bent his head, scenting, filling himself with a aroma absent for far too long. Not truely realizing he'd been going without.

Heeding an ancient instinct, he pulled back, getting on with what needed to be done.

Kicking the cot, he maneuvered it into the corner, somewhere where he'd make sure to have a wall at his back; intuition helping him prepare for every possible thing that could happen. He knew exactly what to do. Just not the reasons why.

"...shhh...shhh...it's alright now... soon, soon.. .all will be made right..."

Forgetting he was a cop, forgetting that procedure called for anything but what his body told him to do, forgetting everything but the man who was here in his arms, the reborn Sentinel of the City prepared to stand guard over his shaman.

To return what he;d never meant to steal.