Okay, so this just came to me. Wanted to write it down before it slips away, so here goes! Please review if you get the change, and thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, that right belongs to NBC, I believe.
"Wyatt!" Lucy slid down beside him, her skirts falling around her like a collective congregation. She lifted his head onto her lap. He couldn't draw his eyes off the arrow sticking out of his chest.
"Lu-cy," Wyatt gasped, head shutting his eyes against the agony. "What 'r you doing here? The Indian-"
Another arrow thudded to the ground directly in front of the two.
"He missed!" Lucy looked down at the soldier, questioning him.
"That was a warning for you," Wyatt gave a wet-sounding cough, slowly lifting his primitive gun, where it lay, useless in his own hands. "Shoot him." He whispered. His eyes began to roll back into his head, and Lucy suddenly found herself very alone. Even if he was awake, he couldn't even sit up to fire that rife, let alone aim it.
Shoot him. Shoot him. Shoot the 'Indian,' Lucy. Save Wyatt. Kill the Indian. Or die yourself.
She jolted into focus, listening to the sounds around her with renewed intensity. Wyatt's whole body was deadweight; she couldn't drag him to cover without the both of them getting shot, and she knew he couldn't handle another arrow, let alone herself. Plus, she only had one bullet, and then she'd have to reload, which was something she knew there was no time to do.
She had to hit this predator, or sign her own death warrant. And she had to do it now.
The arrow came from…. Her eyes scanned the clearing. That way.
There was no movement- how was she supposed to know what to do? The other settlers- the men in the village- they were the only ones who learned how to shoot these things…
For a moment of indecisiveness, Lucy sat in the clearing, the weapon raised.
There was a rustle, a flash of brilliant red, and without thinking, she fired.
Oh my God. Lucy dropped the smoking rifle. What have I done?