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She’s on the ground. She’s not sure how she got on the ground, she’s pretty sure she was walking just a second ago.
But she can’t be on the ground. She hasn’t been walking long enough, hasn’t put enough distance between her and the soldiers. She has to keep going.
Biting back a groan, Kamaria levers herself upright, one hand pressed hard against her side. It’s not doing much good, but she can’t help trying.
She just has to keep walking. Keep putting one foot in front of the other, using trees for support when she can. Worrying about the wound and the pain and the liquid oozing between her fingers can come later, when she’s further away.