Pio's post
Had he been able, he would have called back the fatal dart. Too late! It flew true on its grisly path. But now the target of its certain destruction was no longer the intended one.
Fréa had called for the attack to begin. And Hama, true to his calling, as a loyal guardsman of the Mark had responded. Sword held high he had charged toward Brytta.
With growing horror, Archim watched as the knifed flew straight at the man . . .
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Tinuviel's Post:
The knife that thudded into Hama’s chest came as a complete surprise. It was like a dream. He saw it coming, as if time had slowed down to barely a quarter of normal speed. He felt the pain, heard the wet THUNK! as it pierced his leather tunic, skin, and splintered bone. But it was all at one remove. It didn’t feel real.
He fell to the ground, still wrapped in the haze of disbelief. It was only as the stunned face of Brytta came into view that he realized that he wasn’t dreaming. Time resumed its normal pace, and he suddenly felt the knife in his chest. He saw Brytta’s mouth forming words, but comprehension was slow. His body was reacting at a normal speed, but his mind was stunned. Archim’s knife. Aiming for Brytta. It hit Hama instead.
He tried to form words, to ask for water, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. It was like trying to talk around a mouthful of cotton. He coughed blood; the blade had pierced a lung. He kept trying to understand what Brytta was trying to tell him because he thought it must be important. But he was so sleepy, and he just couldn’t remember why it was so important. Brytta’s face started to waver, as Hama’s breaths grew shallower, more forced. He coughed more blood. His breathing was labored.
He tried to ask Brytta to slow down and start from the beginning again, but for some reason, his body refused to obey him. The worried faces of the fugitives began to fade, and Hama closed his eyes.
Just a little rest . . .
[ September 17, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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