Dain dropped to one knee. He stayed there, his broadsword planted in the dirt like a crutch, his head hanging between his shoulders. Sweat was freezing in the lines of his scarred face.
Lyra lay on her side, three meters away, her left hand pressed against the new wound on her shoulder. Her right hand still held one short sword. She wasn't getting up.
Revan stood over the dead creature. His legs were shaking so hard the vibration traveled up his sword arm. Black spots multiplied across his sight.
'Move,' he told himself. 'You can collapse later. Not yet.'
He turned toward the far side of the battlefield where Lord Voss had been standing during the entire second phase of the fight.
Cassian was exactly where he'd been when his creature had abandoned him to merge. His thin, elegant blade was sheathed and his hands were clasped behind his back in the posture of a man observing a moderately interesting theatrical performance.
