Fury had faded, but clarity didn't come with it. Rhys' mind swam in darkness, and pain radiated in a blur across his body. He couldn't see, though he was sure he was blinking his eyes. (He wasn't.) I've had worse. Thinking that didn't make his limbs obey him. Move. He didn't. Jordan was going to kill him.

Something warm washed over him, like a fire inside. No, gentler. The pain was fading. Rhys' body jerked awake with a sharp breath, eyes wide and on Ezra. His hand went to his shoulder where he knew he had been struck (he wouldn't have known about the thigh) to find his flesh mended, then fell to Ezra' sword.

Rhys stared again at Ezra, then almost grinned, then laughed in silence and pulled himself to his feet. His head was still light and dizzy, but Rhys had fight left in him yet. He held his hand up to grip Ezra's in a comradely gesture to show he was still with him, then with a nod, clenched his fist and headed back into battle.