Air in my lungs so I could exhale through the pain.
Stabbed and broken, my limbs useless, I tried and failed to lift my head. Mosquitoes swarmed, and the sun dropped. My face in the mud, I swore to myself I would not die out here.
Then I heard her voice-angel soft and breathless-and I wondered if I had been kidding myself. I did not have time to figure it out. A small hand landed on my back, and I fisted my bloody knife.
If I was going to die tonight, I was taking someone with me.
