The battlefield stank of burnt stone and iron. Heat shimmered off shattered walls and blackened timbers. Lyra's bow lay twisted on the cobbles, its string snapped. She herself sprawled half on her side, her body limp, blood seeping from beneath her helm.
"Lyra!"
Inigo skidded across the broken ground, boots scraping on glassed cobbles. He dropped to his knees beside her and rolled her gently onto her back. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, her lips trembling as though words wanted to form but couldn't. Her chest rose shallowly, each breath a thin rasp.
"No, no, stay with me," he muttered, voice breaking despite the iron grip he tried to keep on it. His fingers probed along her ribs, her shoulder. The warhammer blow had crushed the lamellar plate, driven force through her entire frame. Her shoulder was broken, her skull ringing, maybe worse. She wasn't going anywhere.
Her mouth moved faintly, but only a dry sound came out.
