Someone tried to approach me with what looked like a medical kit, but Kyrie stepped between us with a snarl that made him back up immediately. Her hand reached out with claw points up, like someone expecting an item to be placed there.
"Give it to me."
Not a request that suggested arguing would be wise. An order that expected obedience. The security member nodded, complied, and retreated like those angry little dogs people like for some reason were snapping at his heels.
I should have objected to her ministrations. Should have insisted I could handle it myself and ordered in return that she hand it to me. And I was going to, once I could stand up and raise my chin.
But when I tried to do just that, reality chose to remind me that motor control tended to be 'toggled off' after a traumatic experience. She caught me before I slipped back onto the ground when my legs gave out.
