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The scent of blood is so thick in the air she thinks she might choke on it. The smell coats her tongue. Sticks in her nose like a tavern wench's cloying perfume. All she wants is to be away from it. To be free from what that scent means. To be free from the sight of her companions torn and bloodied corpses laying on the cold tomb floor. Forever still.
Her many failures stinging worse than the majority of her wounds.
Bile rises up her throat—her gauntlets making an ear piercing screech against the stone beneath her as she drags her bruised and battered body toward the barrow door. Darkness starts to creep in at the edges of her vision.
She's still losing blood, and her strength is going with it, but she desperately needs to feel the sun warm her face again. Even if it's the last thing she ever does. Her final breaths won't be had trapped in these accursed halls. No matter how selfish that made her. No matter how it rends her soul apart to leave her friends behind. But, there's nothing more she can do for them. Their souls have returned to the gods.
She's almost to the doors when her hand scrapes over a tattered piece of parchment.
A hysteric laugh almost escapes her throat when she realizes what it is.
It's the bounty missive they'd plucked from a town signboard only that morning. Laughing and excited about more coin in their pockets. Not having a single idea how wrong everything would go. Not knowing that she would be the only one left.
Her vision is blurring. Head light as air. She's slipping away.
A single tear streaks down her cheek.
Then daylight washes over her face.
An indestinct figure runs toward her, and she can barely make out a cleric's robes. Warm hands catch her shoulders. Her pain fades away as healing magic wraps around her. She finally allows herself to close her eyes.
The End