Wingbeats.

Had there ever been a more beautiful sound?

Wingbeats.

Salvation.

The cavalry was here. But they couldn't just leave it all up to Dragon. Especially not when Marten was out there still holding the only known weapon that could actually hurt him. Could kill him, in point of fact. The chances of that were slim to none, of course – but Jane was not willing to risk any odds. Not when it came to that. None.

"We have to get out there," she said, her hands clenching on Gunther's shoulders. "We have to – Gunther – now!"

Gunther didn't say a word, just unfolded himself to his feet, swinging her up into his arms as he did so – but she immediately stiffened against him.

"No! Put me down! You need to be able to hold a sword, you have to be able to fight!"

"Jane –"

"NO! I will not burden you this way! You have – to be able – to fight! I can walk, I can, Gunther, put me down!"

"No," he said simply, almost absently, eyes scanning the tent as he moved toward the flap.

"What are you looking for, a sword?" She demanded. "How would you pick one up if you found one? How would you take one even if someone walked in here and handed it to you!? Let alone use it? Damn it, Gunther, you have to put –" but at that moment she was drowned out by a sudden volley of shouts from outside the tent.

They heard Dragon land, heard Marten saying something to him in a raised voice, but Jane couldn't make out the words over all the commotion that had now erupted in the little camp.

Dragon's response, however, carried perfectly clearly, and Jane didn't think she'd ever heard him sound this dangerous.

"Where is Jane?" he demanded, and then, a second later, before Marten even had a chance to reply, "WHERE – IS – JANE!?"

This was followed immediately by more shouting, and Jane and Gunther's eyes met again, wide and amazed, as they realized that they recognized at least one more voice out there – "he brought Sir Theodore," Jane said, her voice flat with shock.

Before Gunther could respond, there came the unmistakable whoosh of Dragon loosing a flame. One side of the tent illuminated bright, hot orange. Some of the shouts turned instantly into shrieks of mortal agony.

A roar. Another whoosh of flame. And then awful rending, tearing sounds. "Sweet merciful God," said Gunther, who seemed suddenly paralyzed, rooted to the spot. "Is he ripping up trees?"

His question was answered instantly, dramatically, and very much in the affirmative, when the shadow of something enormous went hurtling past one side of the tent, visible through the course fabric of the wall, and impacted the ground with a crash that shook the very earth.

Gunther swore explosively.

The expression on his face said that he was thinking the same thing she was; Dragon didn't know their whereabouts, which meant that they were in as much danger as anyone else so long as he was throwing trees around.

"We have to get out there, Gunther, now, right now, right the hell NOW!"

"Right," he said, and moved toward the tent flap again. The sound of clashing steel had not joined the cacophony of noises coming from outside. "Wait," Jane said urgently as they reached it, gesturing down to a sloppy pile of equipment right beside the entrance. Clothing, helms, bits of dinged-up and mismatched armor, and there – there – the hilts of a least three different swords protruded from the general mess.

"Gunther, there is fighting out there, I can hear it, I know you can too. You need one – and so do I."

The look he gave her then was agonized. "But your leg – Jane, if you… do some kind of permanent damage –"

She actually pressed two fingers to his lips, shushing him. "We can worry about permanent damage," she said calmly, "if we make it through the next ten minutes alive. All right? And our chances of that will be much better with swords in our hands. You need to put me down."

He groaned, then gritted out in a tortured voice, "I do not think I can let go of you."

Jane responded with a choked little sound that was half laugh, half sob. "We just need to get through this, and then you will never have to again."

He set her gently down in order to rummage through the pile of equipment; she immediately shifted her weight to her uninjured foot. It was not going to be fun, trying to walk – she could tell that much right away, and with absolute certainty. And the sense of vertigo, of the world spinning slowly but surely around her, which had lessened while Gunther'd been holding her, instantly worsened as well. She bit her lip and clenched her fists and did her best to fight it back. There was no way in hell she was going to let on to Gunther – he had to have his hands free to wield a sword. It could be the difference between life and death.

"Here," he said, turning and handing her a blade, broader and heavier than she was used to, nicked and rust-pocked, too. "That is the best of them, they are all rubbish, really, and –" he broke off, running a hand through his hair; a distracted, anxious gesture. "I do not suppose there is any way I can convince you to wait here?" His eyes were beseeching.

"What, and get turned into jelly by the next tree he throws? I have to get out where he can see me, Gunther. I have to calm him down!"

"You honestly think seeing you like this is going to calm him down!?" he demanded. "Jane, one look at you and he is going to –"

But he was cut off by a furious roar, followed quickly by another tree trunk hurtling past just feet away. They both flinched, and he shot out an arm as if to protect her – for all the good that could possibly have done, had Dragon's aim been just the smallest bit off.

When their eyes met again, his were resigned. "Your head?" he asked quietly.

"Fine," she said, and it wasn't so much of a lie, not really. It still didn't hurt, not exactly – just felt a bit odd, was all; rather as if it were stuffed with cotton.

"Stay near me," he said. "Will you do that, at least? Not for your sake – for mine. If I lose sight of you again… I – I –"

"Gunther." She closed the distance between them with a single step; reached up and around with her free hand, to tangle her fingers in the dark hair at the base of his neck. "We are going to be all right. We are." She pulled his head down and sealed her lips to his – a quick kiss, but almost ferocious in its intensity.

"For luck," she said when they broke apart, and then they ducked out of the tent flap together.