"You're not getting one at all, now, until you brush your teeth," Natsumi said. Her own voice rang like a stranger's in her ears, tight and high and thinner than a razor blade. Terror, she thought, could do that. When the enemy was one you couldn't fight against, when all your weapons were broken and blunted anyway, when the world narrowed down to one man on his knees in the cold moonlight--it was hard to feel anything else. Except cold, and tired. Too tired even for tears.

She sank heavily to her knees beside him, dropping the sword across her lap, the wreckage of her armor into the dark leaf-mould. The head jarred oozily against her thigh; she ignored it. Her right arm slipped across Asuma's broad back, bandaged fingers skidding a little in his sweat; his skin was fire-hot. She gripped his left wrist in her left hand, ducked under his arm, and drew his weight against her shoulders. Her useless right hand screamed as she pressed it against his ribcage; his left side had to be shrieking even worse. But there was nothing else she could do.

"You've managed six miles already," she said. Her voice cracked; she cleared her throat. At least she didn't sound quite so ready to break anymore. "Lean on me for the rest. Come on. You're not going to let her drag you down after all this, are you?"

Asuma shot her a disgusted look. Natsumi grinned wildly back. "It's either this, or I carry you over my shoulders. Pick your poison." Gods, there were enough toxins surging through his blood already... "Or don't."

It wasn't quite desperation that tipped her head up towards his, leaning in close enough that her lips brushed the stubble-roughened edge of his jaw. Or at least, not just desperation. "There's your half. You'll get the rest at the monastery. Now stand up!"