Zander stood holding Catrin's limp body, his legs trembling and his heart skipping. How had he found himself here, holding the Herald of Istra next to her dragon and watching other dragons drop from the sky? It was the most surreal and bizarre thing he had ever experienced, and he wasn't certain he could handle it. His back ached and his legs shook. "Help," he said far too low to be heard over the cries of the wounded and those trying to help them. "Um, I think I need some help here," he said a little louder.
He steeled himself when Morif turned. The old warrior was fearsome to look upon, and everything about him made Zander uncomfortable, his long hair and beard, metal rings braided into them, just highlighted the sunken place where his left eye had once been. Truly, Morif could look a man into the grave.
When he saw Catrin, the look on the grizzled face softened as much as Zander had ever witnessed. "We must get her back to the infirmary!"
"No!" Zander said involuntarily, and he nearly dropped Catrin as he choked.
"What is it?" Morif asked, his face no longer anything but hard. "Speak up, man."
"I . . . don't know . . . I don't know why, but I just know she needs to stay with Kyrien. She asked me to hold her, but I can't do it any longer."
Morif stepped forward to take Catrin from Zander's quivering arms, and Zander saw something he would never forget: Morif turned as pale as a whitefish, and his eye went wide. Zander saw it for only the briefest instant, as Catrin suddenly went rigid in his arms. Doing his best to hold on to her and not fall, Zander took two steps backward and bumped into Kyrien's side. As he looked up, a pair of massive eyes glared back at him, and it was more than he could stand. Zander fainted.