“Er… s-seven?” Terry blinked, paling as she listened. Usually, she prided on keeping a cool head during trying situations. Usually, she was able to laugh and shrug things off. Then again, usually, she had her fucking magic, and she wasn’t lying on a cold stone floor, with her ankle swollen and a seer telling her she was going to kick the bucket any time now. Terry’s lower lip quivered before she bit it, hard, trying to keep her breathing from coming out in quick, short bursts, as it seemed to want to do.
“Dying,” she repeated, trying to appear casual buy failing to keep a note of hysteria from showing in her voice. How would she die? Hopefully not begging. Dear god, no, anything but that. And –she added, steeling herself and ignoring the pathetic little voice in the back of her brain whining about wanting to go home –she sure as hell wouldn’t sit and wait for it. Pulling herself together, she licked her lips and clenched her jaw. No sense in being afraid. What would happen, would happen, and… and, anyway, convincing herself of that was better than the alternative, which was crying and freaking the hell out.
A minute. She could be dead in a minute. The idea of it all being a very mean joke didn’t occur to her—he wouldn’t, would he? Not in the current circumstances.
Climbing to her feet, Terry whimpered through gritted teeth as she was forced to press some of her weight on her right ankle, and took a deep breath, speaking in a voice so calm that surprised even herself. “I can walk, professor. If you give me a hand, that is.” She swallowed. “…H-how was I... dying?”