Elda's POV
The contact could hardly be called a "grip" anymore - if I had to define that feeble motion, "resting" would be more accurate. Her strength was so diminished that I could have easily shaken off her hand with the slightest movement. But when I saw her battered face, the savage wounds from some beast's attack so deep they exposed bone beneath torn flesh, I was suddenly transported back to that day with Elda.
Had Elda looked like this too in her final moments? Covered in grievous wounds, waiting helplessly for death to claim her?
"Help... me..." The whisper was barely audible, more a breath than words.
Help me. Please save me. She was giving voice to the desperate plea I had carried in my own heart for so long.
