Something wasn't right with the way the sky was tilted.
He tried to fix it, gagging at the coppery slither of blood at the back of his throat. Soft calloused hands lifted his head, then Poppet's face was blocking most of the sun, streaked with blood and dirt. Grimly, she tried to smile for him. The battle must be over then.
Ragetti started to sit up and couldn't even manage to scream from the attempt. "Pint?" he rasped, after pulling in a breath. The man was going to kill him for getting injured like this. Footsteps passed them hurriedly across the impossibly stained deck and he turned his head in Poppet's lap. He saw Pintel.
Her hand on his left cheek and he found himself staring up at Poppet again. She stroked his face. Her fingers trembled, snagging through the blood in his hair without meaning to. "He went quickly," she forced out.
Ragetti's mouth moved, but nothing articulate came out and the shock of his loss seemed to almost undo her. But Liz remained composed, leaning over him as if she could shield him.
"When d--?" he asked, on the tail of another forced breath. He didn't have enough air in his lungs to complete the question, but she understood.
She shook her head. "He didn't have time to see you."
A strange sense of relief flooded him and he nodded, grateful Pintel had been spared that. Spared the fear of his immortal soul as well, lucky bastard. Ragetti didn't have the breath to say a prayer, but he had one vaguely in mind. Didn't know all the words, but it was the thought that counted.
And then he realized he'd lost color in his vision. Funny. That went first? He reached out for a hold on something and felt Poppet's fingers entwine with his. Her voice spoke to him, filled with some hopeless urgency he hadn't the strength to answer.
He was afraid. He couldn't help it. Pintel was a lot further up ahead than he was.
Ragetti closed his eye against the impending blindness to look for him. He didn't open it again.