Forged in Blood II

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Amaranthe wasn’t dead. At least, she didn’t think so. Dead people probably didn’t hurt all over. The flying lifeboat had insulated them from the crash somehow, though her head had connected with a couple more walls before the craft stopped bouncing.

“Books?” she asked into the darkness. “Akstyr? I hope one of you is alive, because I have no idea how to open that door and get out of this thing.”

A deep, pained sigh came from underneath her-she’d tumbled back on top of the men again during the landing. Amaranthe crawled to the side, though there wasn’t much open space in the cramped cabin.

“One of you?” Books repeated. “You have no preference as to whom your survivor is, nor a belief that one of us would be more equal to the task of opening a door secured by ancient unfathomable technology, or of deciphering instructions written in an inscrutable alien tongue?”

He must not be wounded horribly if he could utter all that.

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