"Why does she have to have red hair…."

"I wonder if she knows how well those leathers work for her."

"Can she have a -worse- grip on a sword?"

"What are you, 12? Sneaking up on someone when they’re working on molten metal is NOT okay."

He couldn’t remember why they were even there. The cold was biting at his fingers and face, and the commotion of battle surrounding them made it hard to think. If only he’d remembered to bring his first aid kit! Jastee Dawnsear lay in his arms, body limp and breathing shallow. Blood was pooling around a stab wound that had gone straight through her heart, and she was running out of time. “Just hold on!” he shouted down at her, and when she tried to respond, all that came up was a blood-filled cough.

He’d been in a similar situation once before, when Lydianah had died. Somehow, some way he’d managed to grip her very essence and tear it back into her body. He didn’t know if he could do that again, but he damn well was going to try! The redhead went limp, eyes closing and body growing cold. “No!!” the blacksmith roared and, with every vestige of strength left in him, reached. He reached so far, stretched and tried so hard…but she was gone. The months of torture and psychological torment she’d gone through were too much…she was gone.