The world around Hua Jing dissolved into a blur of motion and sound.
Screams and cries of victory mingled with the ragged moans of the dying, the clash of steel still echoing somewhere in the distance. But all of it was a muffled drone, a world apart from the icy silence that wrapped around her as she cradled Zhao Yan's still body in her arms.
His warmth seeped into her bloodied palms, even as she felt it fading. Every heartbeat of his grew weaker, his breath a mere flutter against her throat. His head lay heavy on her shoulder, dark hair matted with sweat and blood.
She couldn't hear anything beyond the ragged rasp of his breath. Couldn't see anything beyond the flickering rise and fall of his chest. The arrow jutted from him like a dark promise, its shaft slick with his blood.
No… no…
She whispered the denial over and over, her lips brushing against his ear as she held him tighter, as if her arms alone could hold him to life.
