Mairi tried to push herself up but when she put weight on the arm that was hit, it collapsed under her. Beneath the surface of her skin, she could feel the grinding of bones and a pain that nearly knocked her unconscious. She wanted to support her arm, but the thought of touching it made her nauseous with pain.
She looked up at the young man who stood above her, his mild Irish accent and face unknown to her. "My arm," she gasped out, unable to maintain her usual dignity under such circumstances. "It's broken. But my son, my grandson! Where are they?"