Rain
A few hours later, the woods had gone deathly quiet. Not even the wind dared stir the trees. The moon hung pale and sickly above us, like some ghostly eye watching what little was left of us stumble through the darkness. I could hear Batista's ragged breathing behind me, getting slower… fainter.
I turned, and my stomach twisted.
He was white as bone. Cold sweat clung to his skin, his lips turning a shade of blue that no one should wear while still breathing. His eyes fluttered half-shut, and every so often, a shallow, rattling breath wheezed from his chest.
"We need to stop," Eric said, his voice rough with worry. "He ain't gonna make it much further like this."
Without waiting for anyone to argue, they lowered Batista gently onto the mossy earth. His body looked so… small. Fragile. Like a hollow shell that had once been full of fight and fire.
