Her breath was leaving her. The iron of her axe crushed her bosom- Even without the knee it would be suffocating. Her blood felt like it was boiling- Fire blazing and lashing about- Heat from the campfire warming the wound on the side of her face. 

Her mind traced its way home, again. She had been no stranger to roughing about. All the other girls of her village had been too old or young to play with. The only ones of her age had been boys- Boys with muddy faces and bruised knees. She rough-housed with them; chasing each other with bugs and sticks, slinging rocks and mud and insults, all in good spirit with great fun (Despite the scratches and the occasional scar). She had never been in this position, though. Where no matter the strength she could conjure up, this arm on her neck lay locked. She could almost feel darkness trickling into the wound on her face's side.

She could wiggle her fingers. She could knot her toes. She could flex her arms. She shook her head and caught a glimpse at the fire by her side… Where she lay it looked like an inferno. It was as bright as the sun, hard to stare into. Dancing ribbons shot skyward sending out their own suns into the night sky. Glowing limbs turned grey and collapsed into ash. Some still did not yield- Still black with strength, though white scars still grew into them- Like blazing rot- One had rolled out of its pyre, still glimmering with white like creek-water in the summer-noon sun. Her finger tips could tickle its coolest end- enough to flick away yet not enough to pull closer. She just needed breathing room-