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"I let go, and I fear you will not see tomorrow. Please trust me." Votlyan did his best to return Ahala's whisper, but his words were clear and sharp. It was obvious that they would have been heard by a third party. He had to keep his hands in place, for the sake of the his newfound companion. "I mean you no harm. Your life is my greatest priority."

Ahala tried to shy away. The cerulean blood covering him was not his own and he knew that. He knew that very well. He trembled under Votlyan's touch between the shoch from blood loss and the pain. "You need to cauterize the wound." He said, giving in to the offer of help, finally. "Or stich it shut." He then realized that he could understand Votlyan and was able to piece together, from there, that the blood on Votlyan's body and face must've been his fallen comrade. Tears began to prick at his eyes, hot, wet, and clear.

Votlyan came to a halt. The time that he would have to take gaining firewood would probably guarantee his companion's death by blood loss, but it was the latter that had a possibility of actually helping them both. Stitches... With a plan like like that, perhaps there was some medical equipment within that wreck of a ship, tingling a hopeful idea in Votlyan's head.

"I will return... Please remain optimistic..." As Votlyan returned to the wreck, he placed back his full face visor across his eyes and mouth. Attempting to loot the ship, Votlyan did his best to beat down the door. There had to be something at least, or stitching the wound would be a lost cause.

The ship's medical supplies was limited. Most melted in the crash or was so dirty it was unusable. But, there was a spool of medical threat. It was a thick, slightly plastic textile fiber, black in color. Though there was the thread, there was no needle to be seen. He'd have to improvise somehow. A few sharp pins that held machinery were available, though they didn't have an eye for the thread. Nevertheless, they were sharp and small enough to work if he could get the thread secured.

And Isaac watched. He scanned the three, the live, the hurt, and the dead. And Isaac thought. He thought long and hard. He took off his mask. The Face Dancer changed.

----

He held up an unlit match. The familiar and dead man approached. He couldn't speak their language, but the face would help him fit in. Unless they denied him. But he could cauterize a wound, and that would get him somewhere.

In a flash, Votlyan snatched the thread from it's place, storming back out of the wreck. As he looked back, he noticed that the mysterious stranger was giving both him and his companion a gesture. It seemed that this being wanted to help by cauterizing the wound with the match he had in his hand. This possible gesture of aid gave Votlyan hope. He nodded his head slightly, as if he was beckoning the stranger to come forward.

Aha;a looked quickly between the two, giving Votlyan a fearful look. "Who?" He asked, shying away from him.

He looked like the dead alien. But something was different. The face was plumper, more round. Just very small differences. He approached, the clothing he wore before was still on him save for the mask. He stopped a meter away.

Votlyan kept his initiative. He was unsure whether to trust this new arrival, but considering the predicament that he was in, there was little choice he had. He crept closer in Ahala's direction, while keeping his eyes on the guest.

Ahala's eyes were wide in amazement at what the new creature looked like. "This place is cursed." he said softly, looking at the stranger. "Creatures possess the dead."

Isaac held the match forward. "Here." He said, his voice not matching his body. "It is yours."

This was strange indeed. The hospitality shown by this guest. Votlyan felt uneasy as he took the match from Isaac's hand. Then Votlyan looked to himself, and sighed for a moment. He doubted that neither of these beings trusted him after his last action.

He scraped the match across his armour, and watched as it lit up with a small flame. He kept the match carefully in place. Even though it was simply a small match, in a jungle like this, it could easily start a dangerous wildfire. Kneeling down, Votlyan caressed the fire across Ahala's wound.