'Am I going to die? Again?'
Halo lay crumpled on the ground, wooden shards driven through him like crude nails. His hair hung in stiff, lifeless clumps, scorched and matted, no longer hair so much as rot.
His face was the worst of it. The skin had been burned away in uneven layers, peeled and curled back, exposing raw muscle and pale bone beneath.
One cheek sagged, barely attached, trembling with each shallow breath. Blood crusted over his eyes, seeping from sockets that twitched blindly, as if they still tried to see.
The wind brushed his ruined face, cold and sharp, and the exposed flesh screamed in response. His heart thrashed against his ribs, uselessly fast, while his body refused to obey.
A thin, broken sound escaped his throat, half a sob and half a whimper, as tears slid down where skin no longer existed.
It was sudden, and Halo hardly saw much, but he remembered it too well.
