Aaron stared at the boy, Ruya, who was approaching him. He had just read in the National Geographic that menacing body language was just as threatening as a frightening facial expression, and by extension, an actual thread. With all these three things combined, he should be feeling very threatened indeed. There had been a threat in the boy's voice, and there had been violence implied in the way he stood, this agressive desire to show his superiority over Aaron. It was common amongst human males, just as it was common amongst wolves and deer; conflict proved who was the better man, who should breed with females. But that was animal behaviour, not behaviour suitable for humans, particualrly not if humans were children of Gods. There was something distinctly wrong about that idea; that children of Gods were just as shallow and hollow as humans, that they hadn't evolved beyond conflict. But then again, there were the Greek Gods. Zeus slept with any pretty face, while his wife tormented the resulting children. That was a simple sort of knowledge; about the much of his understanding of Greek religion.
At first, Aaron had thought that Bob was going to try to fight him as well, but Bob was just as scared and lost as he was. They both felt the desire to go home; but Aaron was certain that once he woke up, he would find himself in his bed, with his pocketknife shoved through his tongue. Was it possible that he had fallen asleep with that thing through his mouth? There was never any pain, so it didn't seem likely that he would have stayed awake because of pain - perhaps he had finally drowned in his own blood, and he was now dead. That seemed much more likely than just a delirium; Aaron couldn't imagine coming up with a character as senselessly cruel and petty as Ruya. Unless, of course, Ruya was some deep seated insecurity only now manifesting. He pulled himself to a standing position, and folded his arms across his chest, one hand still limply clutching at the far too slippery amulet.This was a defensive stance, he knew from the same National Geographic article. He spoke slowly and hoarsely, his voice creaking and cracking. "Not true. If it was my dream; you would be with me. In order to present subconscious thought to conscious mind." It had been a time since he had spoke so much, and it seemed to be an effort for him. His hands were shaking, and he turned his head to look at Bob, his colourless eyes flickering over the guy's face. He gave a small, tired looking smile, his brows knitted on his head. He spoke softly, but his voice was still stilted, new-sounding, "Sorry. Didn't mean to hurt you. Tried to comfort. Doctor oath." His hands were trembling in full force now, but his posture was a little more confident, only a tiny bit, but still defensively closed.
However, the amulet slipped out from his hands, and splashed against the pool of blood at Aaron's feet. He scrambled to pick it up bending at the waist, , but it slipped away from him, the edges of the amulet slipping away from him. It was as if the amulet was greased, oiled. Aaron supposed that made sense; his blood had taken on a consistency more like oil than blood. Aaron slipped on his blood as he pursued it, and all fours, covered in blood, like a flithy, foul animal, he reached out to grasp it. But like a skipping stone, it fled his bloodsoaked fingertips, and landed at Ares' feet. Aaron gulped, and looked up at the God of War, from his position on his hands and knees, liberally splashed in his own humours.
