[ So close, Hei thinks bitterly, as an imperfect silence settles in. We almost had them. ]
[ His pulse is slow with the throb of rage and pain, but it's a running river that cannot be stopped. Blinking slowly, he watches the first rays of sunlight creep across the landscape. Lush and vibrant, the valley's green canopy is etched in ebbing shadow, the sky now a dull pink, a lingering band of brightness tracing the Earth's curve. ]
[ For one brief moment, he's reminded of Heaven's War. That moments after the battles were done. Before the crying and screaming of the wounded began. He'd always come to look forward to that bubble of sweet silence, in which he'd find that without too much effort he could concentrate on the present and forget the grisly past or the uncertain future. In which he'd learnt that you can get used to anything, in time. ]
[ He stirs when Pavel rushes in. Everything smells like soot and copper and charred flesh. Around him, the metalguards are in rough shape. A freckle-faced kid squirts blood from his femoral artery. Another man with his armor scorched off nurses a sucking chest wound, eyes bugged out and glassy; he screams for someone named Aiguo. A kid lies on a bed of crushed leaves sans right leg, chest pin-cushioned with so many chunks of broken rubble he resembles a porcupine. Others are in shock, their faces ashen, beyond the realm of pain. ]
[ Hei's better off than most. His clothes are singed, but for the most part, intact. His burns are mild, the edges of his hair crisped and palms and cheekbones reddened from the explosions. A handful of minutes pass before he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, streaking dark-brown across his lips and down his jaw. He stands unsteadily, sways -- but it doesn't take him long to align his balance. (Break enough bones and lose enough blood and, over the years, you learn to suck it up and keep moving.) ]
[ He glances at Chekov, a faint flicker of tension in his shoulders that's there and gone again when he realizes the boy is mostly intact. Rolling his shoulders with a dull pop, until something slides in place, he says, ]
We need to find Korra.
[ Something twists in his gut as he says her name; he ignores it. No point wasting time and energy in worrying. He has to take this one step at a time. ]
no subject
[ His pulse is slow with the throb of rage and pain, but it's a running river that cannot be stopped. Blinking slowly, he watches the first rays of sunlight creep across the landscape. Lush and vibrant, the valley's green canopy is etched in ebbing shadow, the sky now a dull pink, a lingering band of brightness tracing the Earth's curve. ]
[ For one brief moment, he's reminded of Heaven's War. That moments after the battles were done. Before the crying and screaming of the wounded began. He'd always come to look forward to that bubble of sweet silence, in which he'd find that without too much effort he could concentrate on the present and forget the grisly past or the uncertain future. In which he'd learnt that you can get used to anything, in time. ]
[ He stirs when Pavel rushes in. Everything smells like soot and copper and charred flesh. Around him, the metalguards are in rough shape. A freckle-faced kid squirts blood from his femoral artery. Another man with his armor scorched off nurses a sucking chest wound, eyes bugged out and glassy; he screams for someone named Aiguo. A kid lies on a bed of crushed leaves sans right leg, chest pin-cushioned with so many chunks of broken rubble he resembles a porcupine. Others are in shock, their faces ashen, beyond the realm of pain. ]
[ Hei's better off than most. His clothes are singed, but for the most part, intact. His burns are mild, the edges of his hair crisped and palms and cheekbones reddened from the explosions. A handful of minutes pass before he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, streaking dark-brown across his lips and down his jaw. He stands unsteadily, sways -- but it doesn't take him long to align his balance. (Break enough bones and lose enough blood and, over the years, you learn to suck it up and keep moving.) ]
[ He glances at Chekov, a faint flicker of tension in his shoulders that's there and gone again when he realizes the boy is mostly intact. Rolling his shoulders with a dull pop, until something slides in place, he says, ]
We need to find Korra.
[ Something twists in his gut as he says her name; he ignores it. No point wasting time and energy in worrying. He has to take this one step at a time. ]