It was over.
  
She didn't need to have seen it to know.  The unbearable pounding in her head subsided, the buzzing of the creature's madness drained away with the terrible red sun and the suffocating blood-taste of its mindless rage.  The maelstrom had passed.  There was only the dark, quiet forest, the distant crackle of smoldering wood, and the baleful full moon glowing silver through the black canopy above.

She stayed down on the damp, invisible carpet of leaves, sitting up against the splintered birch.  The scattered little fires still burned in a glowing red and orange haze through the trees, and Gregor's silhouette stood dark against it, his sword radiating a pale light like Koptic opal.  The beast lay like a foetid hill at his feet.  He seemed to slump, when it was finally over.  As though the exhaustion of the ordeal had finally caught up with him.  Like a loyal, rigid old guardsman when the Queen has passed and he can again allow himself to suffer.  He took a weary breath, his aspect like bitter spice on her tongue, and called her name.

She sat in the darkness and stared silently at the fallen beast a long time before answering.

"I am here," she said at last.  Her voice broke, just a little.