The silence was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the remaining three wheels and the strained breathing of the Spirit Stags.
Damien didn't wait. The moment the carriage leveled out, he was scrambling.
"Leona, how bad is the arm?" he demanded, already applying a simple Earth-Mana compress to the side of her helmet where the visor was jammed shut.
Leona pushed the carriage roof open and dropped back inside, wincing. She was covered in dust and grit. "Clean break, maybe a hairline fracture in the ulna. I'll heal. It's the stags, they're pushing past their limit." She fought to suppress the flare of her Berserk Aura, knowing the raw power consumption would collapse her faster than Baelor could catch them.
The Spirit Stags were breathing in harsh, ragged gasps, their speed maintained only by the sheer momentum and Lyra's constant, faint stream of Phantom Wind urging them forward.
