Lyra's tears wouldn't stop. Her whole body was shaking as she pressed down on the wound that wouldn't close. Blood soaked through her hands, warm at first, then cold against her skin. "Please don't die," she whispered. Her voice cracked halfway, turning into a sob. "Please, Tessa. You're going to be fine. Just hold on."
Tessa's lips moved, but no sound came out. She wanted to speak, to tell Lyra it was okay, but her throat felt tight. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Each one felt harder than the last. Her eyes were heavy. She was tired—too tired to fight it.
Then she felt the cold creeping in. It started in her fingertips, spreading through her arms, her legs. She shivered. It didn't make sense. She had never felt cold before. Her wolf had always kept her warm, even in the worst storms.
"Tessa," Lyra cried, her voice trembling. "Don't close your eyes. Please look at me."
