[ The roots penetrating through her body rapidly dim the surrounding area, making her vision blur faster. She can feel a solar-heat death pulsing outward from both the wound and her shard, rapidly consuming her, and she wants to tell Barnaby to leave her and save himself. No reason they both should die here to this creature.
Her lips quiver but don't form words, her voice frozen in her throat, only managing a harsh wheeze until the noise peters out. She can hardly move her diaphragm to pump air back into her lungs, and her muscles are starting to go slack.
Run, she keeps pleading in her head, wishing Barnaby would listen yet knowing he won't. Heroics are baked too deeply into the will of the foolish. If she resurrects again after this– she makes a mental note to chide him on his behavior. ]
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Her lips quiver but don't form words, her voice frozen in her throat, only managing a harsh wheeze until the noise peters out. She can hardly move her diaphragm to pump air back into her lungs, and her muscles are starting to go slack.
Run, she keeps pleading in her head, wishing Barnaby would listen yet knowing he won't. Heroics are baked too deeply into the will of the foolish. If she resurrects again after this– she makes a mental note to chide him on his behavior. ]