Cough! Cough!
Illya coughed hard. Her body, already pushed to its limit, trembled violently on Fyar's back. Her face was deathly pale, as if drained of blood. Cold sweat soaked her forehead.
Shit... did I make her use teleportation magic too much?! Fyar muttered inwardly.
He turned slightly back, even though his neck was stiff.
"Illya? Are you alright?" Fyar asked. "I'm sorry, Illya... I'm sorry... I made you use teleport magic too much."
Illya hugged Fyar's neck tighter. She kissed the young man's back and buried her face there, seeking comfort.
"I'm fine, Fyar. It's just normal exhaustion," Illya whispered, her voice weak. "I'll recover in a bit."
"Are you sure? You're not saying that to calm me down, are you?"
"No, I'm fine," Illya replied.
"Then rest for a moment on my back... only after that will we pick up Cyhas," Fyar said.
"Eh? But I pity her waiting up there alone," Illya said. She lifted her head slightly, her face worried.
