Maybe it’s luck, maybe it’s something more, but through the din of battle she catches the faint sound of his voice, calling her name. And it draws her to a halt as relief so intense it chokes her wells up in her chest. He’s all right. He’s all right. She turns toward the sound, towards the direction it came from, picking up the skirt of her dress and running once more.
“Francisco!” She has to get to him. She has to find him. “Francisco!”
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