Pain blazed through her - it literally stole her breath. Beyond the crash and roar of the pain that was ravaging her body - it occurred to her distantly that she must have bruised or even cracked a rib when she hit the ground - she could hear protesting whinnies as horses were suddenly reined up. Shouts, and the muted thuds of boots hitting the packed earth of the roadway.
She made a single, heaving attempt to push herself up - and failed spectacularly. Groaning, she rolled onto her side, wrapped her arms around her middle, and lay there, barely half conscious, struggling to breathe. Her coppery hair fanned out about her head and splashed across her face; a rumpled wave of color, a dying flame.
There was chaos around her, but then a single bright, clear thread cut through the confusion, and that was Gunther, running back from the front of the group, moving faster than he'd ever moved in his life, shouting her name in a voice so frantic that it was barely recognizable.
The next thing she knew he was right down on the ground beside her, stretched out nearly full-length next to her, reaching to push the hair out of her face with shaking fingers.
"Jane. Jane. Oh, no. I knew something was wrong, damnit, damnit, I KNEW something was –"
She blinked hard, trying to keep him in focus. With an immense effort, she dragged one hand away from her injured ribcage and reached up to catch at his wrist.
"Gun…ther." It was all she could do to force words out between her short, sharp, agonized breaths – the result of her fall – and the fact that her teeth were still rattling from cold. "Suh…sorry. I. Am so sorry. I should have…should…uhv…tuh-told you that I… I…"
"Jane, stop. Stop. It is all right. You are all right. Everything will.. will be –" he broke off, fighting for composure.
"Sorry," she whispered again, miserable, overwhelemed, hurt to the core of her being. She squeezed her eyes shut, against the pain, against his stricken face, against everything. "So sorry, Gunther."
"Shh. Jane. Not important now. Just tell me – for the love of God, would you please just tell me – what the hell is wrong with you!? Please!"
She was so compromised in that moment that the only things that came to mind were the things that were right on the surface – the things that were filling her entire perception of the world in that instant.
"Hard to… bree…breathe," she stammered. "And cold. Gunther I… am so so… cuh-cold."
One of his hands pressed firmly to her forehead then, and he immediately let loose with a string of expletives so astonishing that her eyes flew back open again. Only to be further amazed by what she saw.
He looked on the verge of tears. Could that be right? Surely not. She decided her senses were failing her. She was not seeing what she thought she was seeing.
"Gunther… whuh… what…?"
"You are not cold," he said flatly – but it was a flatness that indicated he was working his way back around toward anger, and with uncanny speed at that. "You are not cold, Jane, you are on fire! Damn it, woman, you are burning alive! How long… how long have… and why – why did you not –"
But he abruptly broke off, because just at that moment it all became too much for Jane. The world started spiraling away from her, her eyes began to close again, only she wasn't slamming them shut this time, they were closing on their own... and Gunther realized that he was losing her – either to unconsciousnes or to something worse, something he didn't even want to contemplate.
"JANE!"
Not knowing how badly she'd been injured in the fall from her horse, he was aware that he shouldn't move her – but in that moment his panic eclisped reason and the next thing he knew he was gripping her, hard, by both shoulders, shifting her onto her back.
And Jane's entire world exploded in shards of agony.
At least Gunther accomplished this much; he most assuredly got a reaction out of her.