It was hard to breathe. Crow laid his side in the grass, his jaw hanging open slightly as he panted to get air into his lungs. Every inhale sent a wave of pain through his body that was strong enough to make him feel tempted to stop trying altogether. With his head lolling on the ground and his eyelids drooping from weariness, he couldn’t see the wound in his middle, but he could tell it was bad. He was vaguely aware of the warm liquid pooling around his chest, and he was beginning to get delirious from blood loss. Even the injury he had taken to his leg in the last battle in Grimsby hadn’t been this bad.

Dazedly, he looked down at his arm that laid outstretched in front of his face, and he made a feeble attempt to lift it. However, he couldn’t raise it far, and the effort was so straining that he was forced to drop it back into the grass after just a short moment. He closed his eyes, grimacing as a deep pain spread like wildfire throughout his body. He’d had other serious wounds in the past, but none had ever made him feel like this. The pain inside of him was completely different than anything he’d experienced before, and his heart fluttered fearfully in his chest as he realized he was dying.

With the realization came a strange sense of detachment. He could still feel the ache in his body, but his mind wandered to other things. He forced his eyes open again as he saw that Penelope was now locked in combat with Jaxon. It was hard to see them through the fuzziness in his vision, but he was able to catch sight of a flash of crimson on her arm. He felt a wave of panic. He wanted to tell her to run before the murderous thief got her too, but his voice had been stolen by the weakness in his body. Instead, he was forced to watch helplessly as they fought, Jaxon handling her every blow with grace and precision.

Crow didn’t want to see her die. With a faint burst of energy, he tried to lift his head, wanting to get up from the ground and use whatever little strength he had left to help her. But it wasn’t enough. After he managed to just barely raise his head, it dropped again, and he coughed as he felt more blood pool against the inside of his cheek. It was no use. The wound Jaxon had inflicted was too serious. There was nothing more he could do.

“Crow!”

As he felt himself beginning to lose consciousness, he heard someone call his name. In the next moment, Hartley was kneeling in front of him with wide, frightened eyes. “Oh gods,” the boy trembled as his eyes landed on the gaping wound in the older thief’s abdomen. “What do I do… Crow, what should I do?” He turned to meet his gaze, clearly hoping to help somehow.

Crow held his gaze for a moment, and then cringed, squeezing his eyes shut as another wave of pain ravaged his body. “Nothing… you can do,” he managed to gasp when the feeling passed. “Just get out of here.”

Fear flashed across Hartley’s face at his words. “But—”

“[i]Go[/i],” Crow snapped weakly, opening his eyes again to meet the boy’s gaze. “Save yourself before… before the knights kill you.”

“B-but I don’t know where to go,” Hartley stammered. “Younis is too far away.”

“Head east,” Crow murmured. “There’s a river… Follow it north until you hit the waterfall.” He paused, unable to speak for a moment as another brief wave of pain struck. “There are more thieves there… Tell them I sent you. They’ll help you.”

Hartley stared at him for a moment longer, biting his lip, before he finally nodded. “Okay,” he said softly, rising to his feet again. “Thanks, Crow… You’re a good man.”

“You too, kid,” Crow nodded faintly. “Now get lost.” He watched as the boy turned and ran out of the clearing, hoping his companions would be willing to give him sanctuary until he could figure out how to get back to his home in Younis.

The effort of speaking with Hartley had exhausted Crow, so he closed his eyes for a moment to rest. However, it wasn’t long before he began to feel himself slipping out of consciousness, so he forced them open again. He may have been on the verge of dying, but he wasn’t ready to let go yet—not until he knew Penelope was safe. Looking up again, he was surprised to see that the tables had turned, and Penelope was standing over Jaxon’s body with her sword in the now-lifeless thief’s chest.

[i]She did it,[/i] he thought, feeling a surge of relief. [i]She killed him.[/i] Knowing that Penelope was now safe, his eyelids fluttered as his weariness crept over his body. He was starting to feel tempted to let himself succumb to the darkness. After all, it had to feel better than what he was going through now, right? Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to let go.

However, just as he began to close his eyes again, he saw the knight run to his side and start speaking to him in a voice that was breathy with panic. As tempting as it was to pass out, he didn’t want to leave her like she was now.

Crow managed a weak smile as he looked up at her. “Sorry,” he mumbled, finding it difficult to speak between the pain and the blood that had collected in his mouth. “I know you didn’t want my protection, but… I couldn’t stay away.” He grimaced again as the effort of talking sent another deep ache through him.