"I'm your matesprit." A snort, and he begins to carefully approach. This is positively wretched experience in deja vu. He can remember the last time Summoner was in despair and looking positively wild. He had not asked for help then, wretched pitiful fool that he was and is, but he had needed it then. He needs it now, too. "If I could not see you, I would imagine the worst at any rate, and you would be alone. Then where would we be?"

A pause, only a few feet away from him, and Darkleer wonders if he should take him back. It's an easily dismissible thought. While there are better supplies in the city proper, he knows Summoner would never agree to it. He draws into a crouch and offers his hand. "Let me have your hand."