War Wounds

Malika pushed off from the ground, slowly rising to her feet. The pain in her shoulder FLASHED a hot red, and for a moment she was sure she was going to pass out. Black spots floated in front of her eyes, and an overwhelming nausea flooded through her midsection. She stood for a moment, leaning on Morduth, point to the ground. She gasped for air, drinking it down in great, heaving gulps. She was bathed in a cold sweat, and it was several long moments -- it felt like an eternity to her -- before the sensations passed, and she was able to look up.

The Orthael looked preoccupied somehow, lost in his own thoughts. Inwardly, she sneered, disgusted by his inattention. After all, she was the injured one. A grim satisfaction crossed her mind knowing that she had tended to her own wound, all while he had been too distracted to notice.

Finally it was time to move on. "Come, holy man," she said. "We need be away, if you can find the presence of mind to do so."

And without waiting, she turned and left the clearing.