As she submitted to unconsciousness, her body went limp.
She did not respond.
Fearing the worst, Dixon set his beloved down, gently. He leaned in, his face near hers, his fingertips at the side of her neck, checking for her pulse. His stomach turned over in a panic. His hands shook. He lamented that he stood in the middle of unknown country, having left behind all of his Oathtaker friends, and that he had not the power to heal.
There it is. Yes, there it is. She breathed.
Her head dropped to the side.
“Great Good One, help me. Don’t take her from me,” he prayed. He placed his hand under her neck, then turned her face toward himself. Though frightened, a sense of gratitude came over him. At least in this state, she didn’t suffer, whereas her screams of pain had been so intense. He took her back into his arms.
He bowed his head, reminding himself not to panic. For now, he’d do what he could: hold her, love her.
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