He thought they were going to die. She was covered in dust, blood dripping from some obscure wound that he couldn't find, couldn't touch, couldn't heal. Her breath was shaky, shallow, raspy, ricocheting off lungs that were encased in powder, weeping bloody tears through her virgin pink lips.
Amon wanted to say something to her, because they were going to die. Because none of the words he had said before had even hinted at what he wanted to say to her, and he wanted her to know ….
No words would come. Just his arm, wrapped around her shoulder.