"Not good." Hume blinked again. "How bad?" His attention was not for his own hurt; his eyes searched Vye. And the latter glanced down at his side.
By some chance, perhaps because of his struggle with Peake, Wass' beam had not struck true, the main core of the bolt passing between his arm and his side, burning both. How deeply he could not tell, in fact he did not want to find out. It was enough that the tablets had banished the pain now.
"Seared a little," he said. "You've a bad cut on your head."
Hume frowned. "Can we make the flitter?"
Vye moved, then relaxed quickly into his former position. "Not now," he evaded, knowing that neither of them would be able to take that climb.
"Beam on?" Hume repeated Vye's thoughts of moments before. "Patrol coming?"
Yes, eventually the Patrol would come—but when? Hours—days? Time was their enemy now. He did not have to say any of that, they both knew.
"Needler—" Hume's head had turned in the other direction; now his hand pointed waveringly to the weapon in the dust.
"They won't be back," Vye stated the obvious. Those others had been caught in the trap, the odds on their return without aid were very high.
"Needler!" Hume repeated more firmly, and tried to sit up, falling back with a sharp intake of breath.